School's Out
by MarshallGray
Summary: Greg is a pupil at St Christopher's School, Mycroft is the enigmatic new boy in the Sixth Form he has to share a room with. But is Mycroft really interested in him, or is Greg just a nice distraction from looking after first year Sherlock? (Please review. Help me to improve my writing.)
1. Chapter 1

It was good to be back at St Christopher's with all his friends. Greg Lestrade was a popular boy, Captain of Rugby as his shiny new badge told the world. His shiny new badge pinned on his brand new Captain's blazer. Sixth formers wore royal blue blazers, the lower years wore grey. If you were a prefect or a sport's captain you wore black.

"And we are delighted to welcome a new boy into our upper sixth this term." The headmaster was just finishing up the term notices. Greg looked up at the stage, where the new boy was now standing next to the headmaster. He was a tall boy, impeccably dressed in his black blazer, black waistcoat and grey trousers. His shoes looked so shiny you could have probably seen up his nose. He wasn't handsome, but he was striking, and his eyes were a piercing and bright silvery blue.

"Mycroft is joining us from Harrow School before he goes up to Cambridge next year. Mycroft's younger brother Sherlock is also joining us in the first year."

Next to the tall boy, a much smaller, younger and more slender boy with barely tamed black curly hair scowled out at the assembled school. First years normally didn't get introduced individually. Greg wondered who they were, perhaps a wealthy family, although why the little brother wasn't following his big brother, his rather attractive big brother, to Harrow, was a puzzle.

"Mycroft would you like to tell us a little about yourself?" The older boy smiled at the headmaster and confidently began to speak.

"Thank you headmaster. Good evening, my name is Mycroft Holmes..."

Greg, like the majority wasn't listening to a word of it. Unlike the majority who weren't listening because they didn't care what the new boy had to say, Greg wasn't listening because he was too busy imagining Mycroft with no clothes on.

It was only after undressing the new boy several times that a thought occurred to Greg. When he had arrived earlier that day and found his room there were two names on the door. His own and M HOLMES. No one knew who M Holmes was. But now Greg realised. Mycroft was his new roommate.

"Bad luck Greg, looks like you got stuck with the stiff!" Paul Bradstreet whacked him cheerfully on the head and sat down at the table. "I mean what a fucking geek. Did you hear him?"

"Yeah. I heard him." Greg shoved another piece of lasagne in his mouth. The evening meal was in full swing. The first night before the start of term at St Christopher's. Everyone catching up on six weeks of news from everyone else. Noise.

"_My name's Michael and I've already taken my A-levels and I'm only here to see what happens at a school for normal people_. Twat!" Paul had really taken a dislike to the new boy.

"Mycroft."

"What?"

"He said his name was Mycroft. Not Michael. Mycroft Holmes."

"Yeah, whatever Greg. Might have known he wouldn't have a normal name." Paul helped himself to a plateful of food.

"Do you think he plays Rugby?" Greg asked hopefully.

"I doubt it. And I'd watch your arse if I were you."

"What?" Greg choked on a mouthful of peas.

"I bet he's queer. Mycroft Homo! You can tell by the hair."

"Really?" Greg subconsciously ran a hand through his own spiky locks. He thought about Mycroft's hair, it was dark and gelled back neatly but didn't look that much different to anyone else's hair.

"Yeah. He's like all neat and he looks like he trims his eyebrows."

"I didn't notice his eyebrows." Which was true. Greg had been too busy looking at the new boy's broad shoulders. And his long legs. And his pale skin.

"And did you see his brother? Whole family of poofs! And the brother's got a girl's name."

"Sherlock? Is that a girl's name?" Greg had never heard the name before, for boy or girl.

"Sounds like one. Hey watch out. Fag alert." Paul nudged Greg and looked over to the door of the great hall where Mycroft and his brother had just been shown in by Professor Fry, the headmaster. The two boys were now wearing casual clothes like everyone else. Sherlock, the younger boy had changed from his uniform into black skinny fit jeans, a purple checked shirt and a pair of Vans that looked like they were wounded. Mycroft was wearing dark blue jeans and a pale pink checked shirt, tucked in. He still looked smart, almost adult. They were shown to the house table, Professor Fry guiding Mycroft with a paternal hand on his shoulder. The only empty seats were next to Greg and Paul. Once Sherlock and Mycroft were seated the headmaster left them to it.

"Hi. I'm Greg Lestrade!" He held out a hand. Both new boys ignored it. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

"I believe we are sharing a room." It was a statement not a question.

"Yes?"

"Your friend has misgivings about this because he believes I'm homosexual and I will be after your arse."

"Er...well..." Greg went red. Paul went redder.

"Believe me. I am just as unhappy as you are with this arrangement. I came here on the understanding I would have my own room. Sherlock are you eating that or making friends with it?" The younger boy was pushing food around his plate with his knife.

"I don't make friends." It sounded as though his voice was breaking. He looked significantly at his brother and then glared at the rest of the table. The statement was perfectly believable.

"Quite." Mycroft helped himself to a large bowl of chocolate pudding and custard and the meal continued.

"So Mike, do you play Rugby?" Paul tried to break the awkward silence.

"Can't you tell by looking at him that he doesn't?" Sherlock spoke scornfully. "He's too fat and unfit to play sports. Are you stupid?"

"Nobody calls me Mike. And as my brother pointed out, I don't really have the inclination for sports." The tall boy finished his pudding and stood up. "You were quite correct in your first assumption though Paul, I am homosexual. I'm sure your father will be very pleased with how your detective abilities are coming along. Goodnight."

"How did he? My father? What?" Paul was left open mouthed. His father was the Assistant Police Commissioner for West Yorkshire and was hoping his son would follow him in to the force.

"He deduced it." Sherlock followed his brother, leaving his food uneaten. As they left the dining hall, Greg noticed that Sherlock was holding his brother's hand.

"Fucking freaks!" Paul spat after them. "I'd ask for a different room Greg. Greg?"

Greg was thoughtfully watching the two boys as they left the hall.

"Yeah. Look. I've just remembered I need to go and do something." Greg hurried out of the hall, to his secret place.

There was precious little privacy at school. Even if you locked yourself in a bathroom someone was always banging on the door telling you to hurry up. There were always people. There was always noise. No chance to be on your own with just yourself. Which was strange because it was the loneliest place Greg had ever been. Yes he had lots of friends. Everyone liked him. He was Good Old Greg. Rugby Greg. He never got the best marks, but he was never bottom of the class either. The teachers liked him because he was polite and attentive, but the other guys liked him because he wasn't a suck up. But he still felt alone.

Greg had found the hollow in the tree by accident. From the front the tree looked whole and solid, but a quick look around it showed that there was an enormous hollow in the back of the trunk. Big enough for him, perhaps big enough for someone else as well. Someone he hadn't met yet, who would want to share it with him.

There was a lot of wanking going on at St. Christopher's. Eight hundred boys aged eleven to eighteen and no girls. There was a lot of porn being passed around; everyone had magazines hidden not so subtly under their mattresses. Even Greg. He had the obligatory copy of the Playboy Beach Volleyball Edition. Everyone had. The near naked girls in the magazine did nothing for him. More often than not Greg found himself jerking off over a copy of Rugby World.

That's what Greg liked. And that's why he had found Mycroft so distracting. Greg liked big tall guys. Mycroft was tall; he was nearly as tall as Professor Fry, who had to duck when he went through doorways. If Greg was being totally honest, he'd always had a little bit of a thing for Professor Fry. Under the neat clothes, Greg was sure Mycroft was well built, but not fat. Greg wondered what he'd look like naked, if he'd look like one of the guys in the magazine.

He pushed his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, his cock springing free and upwards. It was a cool evening but the lazy strokes of his hand soon warmed him up as he thought about his new roommate naked. He thought about Mycroft's cock. How would it feel to stroke it? Would it be big or small? He decided it would be long and thick like the rest of Mycroft. Fantasy Mycroft. He'd only met the guy a few hours ago. This was wrong. Greg was wrong. But he didn't care. He closed his eyes.

Paul Bradstreet had warned Greg to watch out for Mycroft. He wondered if anyone would warn Mycroft to watch out for Greg?


	2. Chapter 2

Greg returned to his room an hour later, leaving the privacy of the tree and the fantasy world for the reality of school and his new roommate. The room was lit by a single bedside lamp and in the dim light Greg could see the evidence of Mycroft's unpacking. A neatly filled but groaning bookshelf above the desk, the books all seemed to be University grade texts on politics and economics. A neatly paired and highly polished pair of shoes next to the whitest pair of trainers Greg had ever seen in the shoe rack. The desk itself was set out neatly with an old fashioned desk blotter, with a set of expensive fountain pens and a very expensive looking, and obviously brand new, laptop.

Greg compared this to his own side of the room, his uniform in a heap on the floor, his bed hastily made, a pile of books abandoned on the desk. He made a mental note to tidy up. But his attention was caught in the half light by the sleeping form of Mycroft Holmes.

The other boy was lying on top of the covers of his bed, not a surprise really as it was a warm night. However what was surprising was Mycroft's choice of night attire, dark blue silk boxer shorts. Not the old fashioned baggy pyjamas Greg would have bet a week's allowance that Mycroft wore. The shorts were a close fit, emphasising the outline of Mycroft's cock. The very same cock that Greg had spent the previous hour imagining and describing in his head. Now it was in front of him. The reality was better than the fantasy. If anything it was a lot bigger than Greg had dared fantasise about.

Greg took a deep breath to steady himself taking in the rest of his roommate as he did. Mycroft was, as he has guessed, a well built young man, his body almost but not quite adult and for someone who had professed to having no real interest in sports his frame was remarkably well muscled. There was a distinct quantity of hair covering his chest and belly, trailing down beyond the low slung waistband of the blue boxers, darkening as it went. Greg licked his lips, feeling his cock pushing against the buttons of his fly.

"Are you in the habit of staring at people Gregory?" Mycroft kept his eyes closed and his breathing easy.

"Sorry. No. Wasn't expecting you here." The excuse was pathetically transparent.

"Really?" Mycroft opened his eyes and rolled over on to his side. Greg was trying not to look at him, or to think about him, or the outline of whatever had just bulged and changed direction in Mycroft's shorts. "You weren't expecting to find your roommate in your room? Oh do at least try." He gave Greg a broad, rather sardonic grin.

"Shower. I'm going for a shower."

"That might be a good idea. How long are you going to be? In the shower that is."

"Sorry? What?" Greg grabbed his towel and shower gel from the pile of stuff he had yet to put away.

"Well, since you came bursting in here and woke me up with your thinking I seem to have a rather uncomfortable problem. So I am intending to masturbate."

"What?!"

"In terms you might understand: I'm going to have a wank. I have a very active libido and I won't be able to sleep unless I ejaculate. I merely want to know how long you will be in the shower so I know how long I have."

Greg was speechless. He looked at the reclining figure and then at the alarm clock. Then back at Mycroft.

"Unless of course you want to stay and watch?" Mycroft stroked the tightening crotch of his shorts with one hand and drummed the fingers of his other hand on the mattress, as if trying to get Greg to make up his mind.

"Hey, don't flatter yourself. I'm straight!" Greg told himself if he said it enough times it would be true.

"Of course you are." Mycroft had stood up and was only a few feet away from Greg now, taller than Greg by five inches, broader, probably stronger. "So why don't you run along to your shower and leave me in peace for fifteen minutes. And Gregory, for someone who thinks they are straight, your August copy of Rugby world is rather sticky." He was standing inches away from Greg now. If Greg were to take a step forward the large bulging erection in Mycroft Holmes' boxer shorts would be poking Greg in the belly button. Just one step forward was all Greg needed to make fantasy into reality.

He turned and fled to the showers.

The hot water cascaded over him. It was probably a little too hot, but he didn't really mind. The steam helped him to think. What was going on? Was it a case of mutual attraction? How did Mycroft know what Greg was thinking? He had a feeling that Mycroft Holmes was playing with him. He squirted shower gel into his hands and rubbed it into his hair, washing his spikes flat. He shut his eyes to stop the soap getting into them, and found that the image of Mycroft and his blue boxers was sprayed over the inside of his eyelids. Greg was so preoccupied with trying to flush the image from his head, he didn't hear the door to the shower room open.

A hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes quickly. The touch was gentle but still made him jump. He thought about screaming. Calling for help. He blinked the soap from his eyes and found himself facing the fully naked and dripping wet figure of Mycroft Holmes.

"I'm sorry." Was Mycroft apologising for making Greg jump?

"What are you doing? I'll shout for help."

"Shout then." Mycroft seemed different, as though the water and soap had washed away some of his arrogance.

Greg looked down. Mycroft's erection was inches away from him, every bit as long and thick as he had imagined it. His own erection looked rather pathetic by comparison.

"Blimey. Were you a horse in a previous life or something?" Mycroft grinned. A genuine smile. And then he blushed and stroked a wet hand down the side of Greg's face, caressing his jaw line with a gentle thumb. Mycroft stepped a little closer to Greg, closing the few inch gap, stooping a little, the blunt tip of his cock pushing between Greg's legs until he was forced to straddle Mycroft's length. The bigger boy stood up again and pressed Greg into the wall of the shower and Greg found his own hardness pushing into Mycroft's soft flesh.

The feeling was unbelievable as the water continued to rain down on them. The solid meat between his thighs pushing gently back and forth, slick with soapy water. His legs wrapping around Mycroft, his cock digging into the other boy's fleshy belly. The feeling of strength and power radiating between them. And Greg suddenly found himself spilling over Mycroft and then Mycroft's knee buckling and Greg feeling a flood of warmth between his thighs that had nothing to do with the shower, and the both of them on the floor, in a soup of water and soap and cum.

They finished the shower in silence. Mycroft left first wrapping himself in a dark blue bath robe and leaving damp footprints up the corridor. Greg followed a few minutes later. When he got back to the room, Mycroft was already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft's bed was already empty and neatly made when Greg woke up at seven the following morning, the pillow clamped tightly over his head and his half erect cock pushing in to the mattress. Greg lay on his front for a few moments, confusion swimming around his head. Had the previous night's events in the shower really happened? He was finding it hard to equate his prim and proper roommate with the seductive and stupendously well hung boy who had humped him against the wall of the shower.

Greg made his way to the dining hall for breakfast, nearly jumping out of his skin when Paul Bradstreet clapped him on the shoulder as he walked down the corridor.

"How's your arse this morning Greg?"

"What?"

"Did Mycroft Homo try to do you in the night?"

"You're really not funny you know?" Greg punched him back and they jostled in to the queue for food. When Greg turned around with a tray full of porridge, eggs, bacon and toast he noticed Mycroft, and his brother sat on their own at the end of one of the long refectory tables. Mycroft was buttering a slice of toast for Sherlock, his own breakfast, a rather health conscious looking bowl of granola, yoghurt and banana, to one side. Sherlock took the toast and nibbled the edge of the crust. Then he turned, his bright green eyes locking onto Greg and Paul, saying something to his brother which made Mycroft smile but shake his head. The younger boy smiled, his nostrils flaring a little as he smirked.

Then Mycroft looked over to where Greg and Paul were standing. The pale eyes flicking over Greg briefly, before their attention returned to breakfast. Mycroft picked up his spoon and took a generous quantity of food into his wide mouth. Very briefly the lips were smeared with a little yoghurt and Mycroft's tongue licked it away. Greg felt his knees wobble a little as he began to imagine those lips and what they could do. What it would be like to kiss them.

Greg had never really thought about the wider implications of having sex with someone. He supposed what had happened the previous night didn't actually count as sex. Neither did the frequent liaisons with the magazine men. But what he was wondering was what you called it when you thought about kissing someone and holding hands with them. When you thought about waking up with someone. In their arms. Their big strong arms, pillowed against a broad chest. What did you call that?

"Greg? Are we sitting down or what?" Paul Bradstreet nudged him in the back and pushed him in the general direction of the table containing most of the rugby team. Tim Anderson who played for the second fifteen at fullback scooted along the bench to let them sit down. Greg had no choice, he couldn't not sit with the rugby team, after all, he was the team captain. The talk at the table turned to the team try outs the following day and the prospect of new talent. Apparently, Harry Watson's little brother John had just started in first year, Harry Watson being the Captain previous to Greg. John was rumoured to be even better than his elder brother. Greg listened half heartedly, knowing that behind him, three tables away, Mycroft Holmes was sitting eating breakfast with that sensual mouth that could be better served working on Greg's cock.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything had been going fine until the afternoon games session. St Christopher's had a strong reputation for its sports teams and they had PE or games almost every afternoon. Greg had been quite looking forward to a game of touch rugby, the usual first day back sport of choice. But he hadn't reckoned on the presence of one Mycroft Holmes.

Greg had almost forgotten about Mycroft during the course of a morning of History. Mycroft had not been in the dining hall at lunch and Greg had found himself relaxing and enjoying the company of his friends. And then he'd walked into the sports hall and was confronted by all six foot whatever of Mycroft in shorts and a rugby shirt. Andy Dimmock nudged Paul Bradstreet in the ribs and whispered something that cracked them both up. Obviously something at Mycroft's expense. Paul leaned in to Greg's ear.

"Do you think he's ever played sports before?"

"I guess he must have done at Harrow." Greg hissed back at him. He didn't want to get into a discussion that might end with him revealing exactly how athletic his roommate was and how Greg knew this from extremely personal experience.

"Yeah, but he's not played with us before. I think we need to send Mikey-boy a message. Before he gets any ideas." Paul was not as tall as Mycroft, in fact he was several inches shorter than Greg, but he was extremely proud of his muscles, having spent a great deal of time and pain "bodybuilding" since the age of fourteen.

"Just don't do anything stupid. He's all right."

"Greg, have you seen the way he looks at you? I was right first time, he's a queer. He admitted it. "

"Paul, this isn't the fifties. Lots of people are. It's me who's got to share a room with him, just leave it." Greg had a feeling this was not going to end well.

"Greg I'm just looking out for you mate." And Paul winked at him. Paul who he had been at school with for six years and who obviously knew nothing about Greg at all.

The game went well for the first ten minutes or so. Predictably Mycroft was as uninvolved as possible, touching the ball perhaps once. Rather skilfully, Mycroft managed to make it look as though it was simply a case of the ball not being passed to him rather than a deliberate attempt to avoid playing the game. Greg was enjoying himself, he was athletic and quick and loved the fast pace of the game.

And then Paul started his campaign to teach Mycroft a lesson. A couple of well placed elbows, an accidental on purpose tripping up, pushing him in the back, getting in his way. It was all designed to make Mycroft lose his temper. But he didn't. He just regarded Paul with a cold indifference. Which ironically made Paul mad.

No one quite saw what happened, Paul had taken a long run, and had deliberately crashed into Mycroft. The intention was probably to knock him off his feet. Only it didn't work. Paul discovered that running in to Mycroft was like running in to a brick wall. Paul was dumped on to the floor and everyone laughed.

Greg thought that would be the end of it. But of course it was only the start. Once they got into the changing rooms, Greg doing his usual trick of looking at no one and nothing until he was showered and dressed, the trouble started. Paul was all right, but he really could be a twat sometimes.

"Hey what are you looking at?" Without looking up Greg knew it was Paul trying to start an argument with Mycroft. There was a response Greg couldn't quite hear, spoken in Mycroft's soft, silky tones.

"You what fat boy? What did you say, Gaycroft?" Greg thought that was low blow, especially as he had firsthand knowledge that the only thing about Mycroft that was fat was his cock. Greg looked over. Paul stood a couple of feet away from Mycroft, who was wearing nothing but a towel and drying his feet with complete disregard for the bristling figure in front of him. "You were looking at my dick, you fucking dirty pervert. I saw you."

Everyone was watching now. Mycroft looked up at him.

"You started weightlifting when you were fourteen. Just after your voice broke. It's not advisable to begin that sort of exercise until you are older as it can cause problems with the body's development in other areas." Mycroft stood so he towered above Paul, who for all his muscle suddenly looked rather small. "And I really don't know what your problem with homosexuals is, other than your own rather confused sexuality, but if you are going to call me names I suggest it might have more impact if you stopped shaving your legs." Mycroft turned his back on Paul and began to pull on his shirt. And Paul snapped.

He pushed Mycroft hard and the bigger boy fell forward, hitting his head on the peg his clothes were hanging on. Paul smacked a couple of rabbit punches into Mycroft's kidneys and Greg was just about to step in and stop it when Mycroft turned swiftly, grabbing Paul's wrist as he went and forcing him to the floor.

"If you struggle I will snap your arm in three places." Mycroft meant it, you could tell. He had a nasty cut above his right eye and a few drops of blood fell onto Paul's shoulder. "Now apologise."

They continued changing in silence.

When he saw him next, in their room, Mycroft had a neat steri-strip above his eye and the beginnings of a bruise. He was seated at his desk, studying a book on international law; a large bag of coconut mushrooms was half empty next to him.

"Are you okay?" Greg threw his bag down onto his bed. Mycroft nodded. "Paul can be a tit sometimes. He's a good bloke but he just gets these stupid ideas in his head. Sorry."

Mycroft put his book down and sighed. He turned so he was facing Greg.

"That's quite all right. I'm used to it." He looked Greg up and down.

"About last night." Greg was determined to evict the Elephant.

"Last night?" There was genuine confusion in Mycroft's face.

"Yeah. In the shower?"

"What about the shower?" And Greg realised it must have been a dream. A fucked up dream and he was making a complete idiot of himself.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. Sorry." Greg turned his attention to unpacking his books. And then he felt a large, warm arm snake around his waist and the silky voice whisper in his ear.

"It wasn't a dream Gregory." Mycroft's fingers began to undo Greg's shirt, the long elegant digits dancing over the taught muscles of Greg's stomach and chest, the tip of one finger gently flicking his left nipple.

"Mycroft, I've not ever...I mean last night was the first time...I don't know..." Not that he hadn't got an idea how awkward first times were supposed to be, but he wasn't sure this was quite how he had imagined it.

"I'll be very gentle." Mycroft was pushing against his back now, the hardness in his trousers obvious. He paused. "Don't you like me?"

"Of course I do, but we've only just met, I hardly know you and you're older than me and have got more experience and everything." Greg knew he was stalling.

"How old do you think I am?"

"Well, you're nineteen aren't you?" Greg remembered Mycroft saying he'd already done his A-Levels.

"I'm sixteen." Greg quickly did the maths.

"You're two years younger than me! Almost." Greg was eighteen in three weeks time.

"I was allowed to take my A-levels two years early, but I can't go to Cambridge until I'm seventeen." They were facing each other now, Greg's shirt was undone and somehow so was Mycroft's, and somehow Greg was playing with the hair on Mycroft's chest.

"So how come you're so... well developed." He was trying to be polite, but he was burning with curiosity.

"My voice broke when I was nine. It seems to run in the family, although not with Sherlock."

"Sixteen? But you're not a virgin?" Greg's hands had moved lower to Mycroft's belt. Looking into Mycroft's' face, once you knew, you could tell how young he was. Greg was even thinking how the flesh on Mycroft's belly was probably puppy fat.

"No. Either way. And before you ask that includes girls."

"You've had sex with a girl?" Now Greg was impressed and confused. Everyone at school always talked about how they'd had sex but it was an unspoken understanding that no one really had.

"Yes. With my second cousin Felicity. At a wedding last year. I'd had rather too much champagne and she wouldn't take no for an answer. She's twenty three. It was enjoyable I suppose, but I know what I prefer."

"And what would that be?" Greg had eased Mycroft's erection out of his boxer shorts and was working on freeing his own from his too tight trousers.

"I like cock."

"Do you like to be sucked?"

"Yes. Have you done that before?"

"Well no. But I've seen a very instructional DVD." Greg bent his head down to take Mycroft in his mouth. He took a deep breath and swallowed the first four inches, discovered he couldn't breathe and choked. "Fuck, too big!" he said it apologetically as he gagged. Mycroft lay back on the bed, shucking off his trousers and boxer shorts and Greg found himself being pulled on top of him, feeling Mycroft slip between his legs like he had done in the shower the previous night. Feeling the probing cock as it brushed against the crack of his arse. Greg felt himself dribbling pre-cum on to Mycroft's chest and sighed. He felt Mycroft push in between his cheeks and for a horrible moment thought he was going to end up taking all of Mycroft into him with no preparation and no lube. But good as his word, Mycroft was gentle, moving slowly between his legs so that his shaft brushed against Greg's balls. Greg felt himself rapidly approaching orgasm when the door of the room burst open.

In their haste they had forgotten to lock it.

Sherlock stood there for a moment looking at both half naked boys.

"Oh. Well that explains everything!" Was all the green eyed boy said before sitting down in a chair to watch what his brother was doing.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock, get out, you little shit!"

"What are you doing with him?" The younger boy seemed fascinated, but not alarmed.

"Nothing!" Which, since Sherlock's intrusion, was sadly true. Greg hadn't moved, he was still lying on top of Mycroft with the other boys softening cock between his thighs and his bare arse sticking in the air.

"You should stop eating so many sweets Mycroft, you're getting fat. Are you having sex?"

"No. We are not having sex Sherlock." Mycroft gently but firmly dumped Greg off of him onto the mattress and threw a towel over Greg to cover his now exposed privates. Mycroft swung his legs round and grabbed his bathrobe.

Sherlock span around on Mycroft's desk chair, his legs crossed, frog like onto the seat. Greg suspected Sherlock Interruptus was something that happened quite often to Mycroft.

"Mycroft there's a boy in my biology class. Mr Stanford has made him my partner."

"And?" Mycroft poured his little brother a glass of squash. The boy sniffed it and then took a sip.

"His name is John Watson. He wants to be a surgeon. "

"And?" Mycroft knew there was more to come.

"And he didn't laugh at me when I knew all the answers. He said it was brilliant. And he gave me some of his chocolate. I said I didn't like chocolate but he said that was ridiculous and I should try some. So I did. It was quite nice."

"And what did you conclude from this Sherlock?"

"I don't understand." The small boy frowned and looked at the carpet. Mycroft placed a hand on the side of his brother's angular face and smoothed the dark hair back from his forehead.

"What don't you understand?"

"Why was he being nice to me?"

"He was being friendly Sherlock. That's a good thing."

"Were you being friendly with him just now?"

"That's a different kind of friendly."

"Will John want me to do that with him?" Sherlock looked slightly horrified at the prospect.

"I don't think so." Mycroft shot Greg a look begging him not to laugh.

"I wouldn't mind. He's very nice. He's not an idiot." It seemed all the boy's questions had been answered and he hopped off of the chair, pausing to look at Greg. And then he smiled, his whole face lighting up. "You're very sensible not to allow Mycroft to lie on top of you. He's very heavy. He'd flatten you!"

There was silence for a few moments after Sherlock's exit and Mycroft took the time to lock the door.

"I'm sorry about that. He's...not good with people. He's very bright and he has a tiny attention span and he has to know things the moment he thinks of it. I suppose I'm used to it. But when I see other people's reactions I remember it's not usual."

"Is he autistic? Like Asperger's or something?"

"He's had the tests. He's on the spectrum but not cause for concern. He's just a very clever little boy in a world where little boys aren't supposed to be like that. It's the world that has the problem, not my brother."

"Sorry." Greg took Mycroft's hand and sat him down on his bed. "You are an enigma Mr Holmes. You want everyone to think you aren't interested, that you don't care, but I think you care about everything. "

"He's my brother. I want him to be happy and if that means getting myself into a position where I am able to ensure that then so be it."

"What about you? What makes you happy?"

"My needs are very basic. Now where were we?" Mycroft pushed Greg down onto the mattress.

"Sherlock was right, you are heavy!" But Greg didn't actually mind his imminent flattening. He felt the familiar feeling of Mycroft beginning to push between his thighs and he angled his hips back a little, wrapping his legs around Mycroft's waist . Inviting Mycroft to enter him.

"You'd let me do that?"

"God yes! What's the problem?"

"Greg you need to be prepared."

"I am prepared!"

"No. I mean properly stretched and everything. It hurts. The first time. Well most of the time really. It's a good kind of hurt. But it still hurts. And I don't want to hurt you any more than I need to. Besides, when I take your virginity it's going to be special."

"Okay." But Greg couldn't keep the note of disappointment out of his voice.

"Now, let's try something different."

Greg soon regained his enthusiasm when Mycroft gently guided him into position for what he was proposing. Greg sat on Mycroft's lap, facing away from him, Mycroft's erection pushing between his cheeks so he could slide between them. Mycroft was using one hand to guide himself and his free hand was working on Greg's own needy hardness. They didn't last long. Five minutes perhaps? But to Greg it didn't matter, he turned back to face Mycroft, who's eyes were darker now, the pupils massive, and he put his arms around his neck, pushing him down onto the bed, feeling their completion sticky between them. Greg nuzzled into Mycroft's neck and felt warm arms wrap around him. Mycroft smelled of sweat and musk and sweets and Greg could hear his heartbeat, gradually slowing and his stomach gurgling a little. And very strangely Greg felt safe.

**A/N Thanks for the reveiws and likes. My school term starts today so I might not be updating for a bit. MG**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Sorry this has taken a while! I've just been made a monitor so I have been really busy with school stuff. Thanks for reading. MG**

Greg was alone when he woke up. There was a sticky patch on the bed. Mycroft's bed. He was laying in Mycroft's bed, almost pinned to it by the thread-count of the bed linen. Greg wriggled around to face the room, half expecting to find Mycroft sitting at the desk, looking over one of his impossibly complicated text books but the room was empty. For a moment he lay still. Confused and a little disappointed that Mycroft hadn't woken him before he left for wherever he had gone. Or disappointed that Mycroft had gone rather than stay with him. He wasn't sure which.

He got out of bed. He was very aware that he smelled of sex. He smelled of Mycroft. Expensive aftershave and musk and sweat. He needed a shower. And he needed to get to the showers without anyone seeing him. He was certain that it was obvious what he had been doing. He had been in bed with another boy. Not just any boy either. Mycroft Holmes. And he had let Mycroft Holmes thrust between his legs until they had both ejaculated and he had been desperate for Mycroft to take him, to push his substantial length into Greg and fill him repeatedly.

Greg blushed, grabbed his towel and shower gel and opened the door a crack. The corridor was empty but Greg was still holding his breath and the ten metres of corridor seemed like the longest distance in the world.

"Gregory." The voice of Mr Allen, the housemaster, cut the air just as Greg reached the door of the showers.

"Yes Sir?" Greg could smell himself. He knew Mr Allen would be able to smell him too. Mr Allen would know what he had been doing. And probably with whom he had been doing it. He might as well be wearing a huge sign.

"Everything all right Gregory?"

"Yes Sir. Just having a shower."

"Well I can see young Mr Holmes is having a good influence on you."

"Sir?" Greg turned beetroot. He knew! Mr Allen knew. Greg could feel his heart beating thickly in his throat.

"Personal hygiene Gregory!" Mr Allen twinkled and walked off up the corridor. And Greg was left to slip into the showers and wash away the scent of the last two hours or so. That was the easy part. But the memory of it all wouldn't wash off so easily.

Greg had always assumed it was a phase. Something he would grow out of. He wasn't really gay; he just liked the guys in the magazines for what they represented. Power, physical perfection, excellence, strength. It wasn't as if he had ever found any of his other school mates attractive. And yet, within hours of meeting him he'd let Mycroft… well he wasn't quite sure what you called it. And then Mycroft had looked at him with those weird, pale eyes and told him that he wanted it to be special. Implying that there was more to come. Special things to come. Greg wondered what kind of special and as he did he felt his cock twitch and begin to harden. Just the thought of Mycroft did terrible things to his body. He wondered if Mycroft felt the same.

When he got back to his room, still hard despite turning the shower on full blast on the cold setting, Mycroft was back. The bed had been changed, crisp clean white linen replacing the sticky sheets and duvet cover from earlier. Mycroft was sitting at his desk, making notes, dressed in jeans and a formal looking blue button down shirt.

"Hi!" Greg smiled at him.

"Hello." Mycroft turned around on his chair.

"You don't really do casual do you?"

"What?"

"Do you have any clothes your mother didn't pick for you?"

"I can assure you my mother does not pick my clothes for me."

Greg pulled a pair of black jeans and a Ramones T-shirt from his wardrobe.

"So would you wear these?"

"Aside from the fact they certainly wouldn't fit me. No. "

"Why not?"

"They're just not my sort of thing."

"So you won't even try them on? Have you ever worn a t-shirt before?"

"Yes. Oh for goodness sakes." Mycroft snatched the t-shirt Greg was waving in front of him out of his hands. He removed his shirt and pulled the t-shirt on.

"Bloody hell!" Greg couldn't help shouting out.

"What?" The t-shirt, which was a good fit for Greg was almost skin-tight on Mycroft and showed off his broad shoulders and thick body rather well.

"Hang on." Greg grabbed a tube of hair gel from his own desk and squeezed a bit on his hands, then proceeded to make a mess of Mycroft's neatly combed hair. "You just need a tattoo now!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Look." Greg turned the taller boy to face the mirror on the wardrobe door. Mycroft looked a little surprised.

"I look different."

"You look hot." Greg adjusted a spiky bit of Mycroft's hair. "Very hot." He ran his hand down the front of Mycroft's chest and continued downwards, slipping his fingers past the waistband of his jeans, brushing the thick cock before finally cupping Mycroft's heavy balls. Mycroft gave a small sigh of pleasure before grasping Greg's wrist firmly and pulling his hand away.

"What's wrong? Don't you like it?" Greg's own erection was poking through the gap in the towel wrapped around his waist.

"I like it very much. But I'm rather hungry. It's nearly time for dinner."

"You're joking me? You'd rather have dinner than me?" Greg angrily began fishing in his drawer for clean underwear.

"I really don't perform well with an empty stomach." Mycroft pulled the t-shirt off. "However, I'm prepared to skip dessert for something more interesting." He pressed himself into Greg's back, wrapping his arms around him.

"I bet you don't say that to everyone."

"I've never said that to anyone before."

"That I can believe." Greg turned around in the embrace and poked Mycroft in the stomach.

"There's no need to be rude." Mycroft let go of Greg and pulled his shirt back on. Greg was certain he might have touched a nerve there.

"Hey. I was only joking."

"So was I. I have absolutely no intention of missing dessert!" There was a bite of malice in his voice as he said it. One which Greg found very difficult to interpret. The pale eyes looked Greg over once and then Mycroft was gone, leaving Greg slightly confused.


	7. Chapter 7

The much smaller boy was cuddled up to his brother in the house common room in one of the large armchairs. Both boys were reading the same book, the elder boy's finger occasionally pointing out something and the younger boy nodding. Almost as though they were having a silent conversation.

Greg had not spoken to Mycroft since he'd left in a huff earlier, although he had watched from the other end of the house dining table as Mycroft had demolished a plate of grilled chicken and vegetables, before eating three lots of apple pie and cream.

And now, the younger boy was nodding off slowly in his brother's warm embrace. Which Greg was thinking should have been his place. But there was something a little strange about it. How many eleven year olds cuddled their brother? And how many sixteen year olds allowed an eleven year old to do that? Finally Sherlock was asleep and Mycroft put the book down, stood up as though the boy weighed nothing and carried him to his room, ignoring the strange looks he had been getting from the rest of the common room.

"Wow, what a pair of freaks." Oliver Anderson looked over the top of his biology book.

"The little one wets the bed. I heard matron talking about it earlier." This caused general hilarity, especially from Anderson, who Greg recalled had wet the bed until he was thirteen.

"Yeah, and he solved Professor Makepeace's equation puzzle in 73 seconds." This was said with scorn, like it was somehow a bad thing.

"So Greg, what's it like sharing a room with Fatcroft then? You better hope he doesn't get hungry in the night."

"He's all right. I haven't seen him that much." Greg hated himself for not telling the whole truth of it.

"So what's the deal with him and the little freak then?" Anderson had decided this conversation was far more interesting than DNA sequences. "Is it like an incest thing?"

"He's not a freak!" It was a small voice, unfamiliar to Greg. One that wobbled slightly as though it might be on the verge of breaking.

"What say Wotsit?" Dimmock looked thoughtfully at the boy. A first year, a very small first year with blond hair and huge blue eyes. Harry Watson's little brother.

"I said he's not a freak. He's brilliant!"

"Yeah. Here's the deal half pint, your brother was a big shot. You're not. You're not even a tiny little shot okay? So you don't have an opinion. Not unless we say you can."

"Sherlock's not a freak. And I'll say it as much as I like."

"Okay. I can see you need to be reacquainted with the rules." Dimmock stood up; the small boy stood his ground.

"Enough!" Greg had seen all he wanted too. Dimmock collapse back onto the sofa, trying to give the impression he thought the first year wasn't worth the effort. The small boy still stood in front of him, a pink flush suffusing his cheeks. "It's all right John." Greg placed a hand on the smaller boys shoulder.

"Sherlock's not a freak." John said it very quietly. "But his big brother is scary."

"Tell me about it." Greg decided he'd had quite enough of the common room that evening.

Greg returned to his room just in time to witness Mycroft, naked on the bed, finishing himself off. The ejaculate erupted from his cock just as Greg opened the door, splattering all over Mycroft's belly and the duvet cover.

"What are you doing?" Greg didn't really know where to look. He knew where he wanted to look, but that wasn't quite the same thing.

"I would have thought it was obvious what I was doing?"

"Usually we do that sort of thing in the showers. Just out of courtesy to our roommates." Greg looked at the sticky mess that was dripping onto the sheets.

"Apologies." Mycroft didn't sound remotely sorry.

"Yeah whatever." Greg shrugged his shoulders. He was trying to be angry. He ought to be angry. Everything had been fine right up to the moment that this arrogant tosser and his freaky little brother had appeared on the scene. Greg had only got one year of school to get through. Just one year. Only Greg couldn't be angry. Not really. Because Mycroft might be an arrogant tosser, but he was still a kid. He'd still been on the planet two years less than Greg.

"I am sorry. Please believe me. I didn't think you'd be back. Not yet anyway."

"It's fine. Okay. Let's just pretend it didn't happen. You might want to go and have a shower though?"

"Yes. I will." Mycroft stood very meekly and grabbed his bathrobe. Once he had left the room Greg breathed a hearty sigh of relief.

Mycroft had been in the shower rather a long time. Far too long thought Greg. Perhaps he'd been expecting Greg to follow him. But Greg was rather inclined to teach him a lesson. Thirty minutes later though, Greg was beginning to feel uneasy. He grabbed his toothbrush and headed for the bathrooms.

The water was still running. And the room was rather steamy. Mycroft's blue bathrobe was hanging on the peg.

"Hey Mycroft, are you trying to drown yourself in there?" No reply. "Come on. Apology accepted. You'll get all wrinkly." Greg listened, there was no sound of movement from within. He tried the door. It wasn't locked, but something was pushed up against it. Greg gave it a good shove and managed to squeeze his head through the gap. Mycroft was laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, angry purple-blue bruises covering most of his torso and the cut on his forehead from earlier split further open and bleeding down the drain. There was blood all up one wall of the shower. Greg ran, dripping wet, to the housemaster's rooms.

"Gregory, is everything all right?"

"No Sir. It's Mycroft Holmes. He's in the shower... I think he might..." Greg paused. "I think he might be dead."


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft was not dead. He'd been sent to the local hospital as a precaution and the numerous X-rays and tests had revealed two broken ribs. And a lot of bruises. But he wasn't dead.

Mr Allen was furious. So was matron. Both of them obviously thought the beating was something to do with Greg. They had questioned him for hours about what had happened. He had his suspicions of course, but the first rule of school? Well you didn't rat on anyone. It was called Leathering, mainly because the bar of soap of choice that got used was Imperial Leather. You put the bar into a sock and smashed it down on your intended victim's body.

And Greg was imagining what had happened. When the door of the shower which had been left unlocked was opened. Mycroft would have thought it was him, come to have more of the same. Mycroft had been expecting Greg. Mycroft would have smiled as he turned around and then was met by a hail of socks. And the thing Greg was most worried about was not whether his roommate was hurt. He was worried that Mycroft might have given him away.

When they turned Mycroft over, lifting his head from the bloody, soapy water in the shower tray Greg had seen straight away what they had done to him. A sharp blade. Really sharp to do that. To brand someone with that word. Homo.

Greg had a good idea who it would be. Or at least who the scalpel belonged to. Anderson. Oliver that was, not his younger brother Tim. Tim was a good bloke, just a bit anxious to please. Oliver was a weasel in weasel's clothing. But actually getting physical like that. Cutting someone. That took a whole different style of bully. It wouldn't be Paul. For all his faults he would just walk up to someone and punch them on the nose.

There was only one person at St. Christopher's who was sick enough to do this. One person who might now have a hold over Greg. It would have only needed Mycroft to say something like "Gregory what took you so long?" And while the motives weren't clear, it still made Greg shudder and feel sick.

"Have you any idea who might have done this Gregory?" Mr Allen asked again. Of course the answer was yes. But you didn't say. You never said.

"No Sir, I really have no idea." Greg looked at his feet. Okay so he was a coward. He didn't want the whole world to know he was gay. Was that so bad? But a little voice in his head was telling him it was. Because one day James Moriarty was going to kill someone. And one day it might be him.


	9. Chapter 9

When Greg returned from Rugby practice he was a little surprised to find the door to his room ajar. Mycroft was still at the hospital. He would be there for the rest of the week. They were worried about internal injuries, or at least that was what Matron had said. Greg tensed. He knew he'd locked his door, which meant someone else had broken into his room. And he had a shrewd idea who it might be. He'd been waiting for it. Greg held his muddy Rugby boots by their laces and pushed the door open.

"Hello! You must be Gregory." The man sat at Mycroft's desk was nearly as tall as Greg seated and so wide that he seemed to fill the whole room. He held out a large hand. "Aloysius Holmes, Mycroft and Sherlock's Great Uncle."

"Hello?" Greg was feeling a little foolish, covered in mud and brandishing his boots like a weapon. He was also feeling slightly underdressed for the occasion as the huge man's silver eyes flicked him up and down. "Sorry. I've just been at Rugby practice."

"Oh yes. Mycroft did mention you were something of a sportsman." There was a twinkle in the man's eyes as he said it. "Why don't you go and wash all that mud off and then we can have a little chat?"

"Yes." Greg found himself agreeing, partly out of relief that he hadn't found his room full of James Moriarty's gang, partly because the man currently occupying most of the spare space in his room was like an older, less awkward version of Mycroft.

Greg showered quickly, trying very hard to put the quite monumentally inappropriate thoughts he was having out of his head long enough to answer some more pressing questions. Such as: Why was Mycroft's Great Uncle at the School and not his parents? What was he doing in Greg's room? What exactly had Mycroft been telling his family about Greg? Was that what Mycroft would look like in forty years time?

Greg switched off the shower and towelled himself dry, dressed in clean uniform and hurried back to his room. Aloysius Holmes was casually turning the pages of a book on international relations when Greg returned. He flashed a broad smile at Greg and stood. He towered over Greg, even taller than his Great-Nephew, the exquisite cut of his pale grey suit making him seem even more imposing.

"Well Gregory. May I call you Gregory?" Greg nodded. "Perhaps we could go somewhere a little less, academic? For tea and cakes perhaps?"

"Erm, well..." Greg wasn't quite sure what to say.

"It perfectly all right I have asked your Housemaster's permission so you won't get in trouble."

"Thank you Sir."

"Oh please, call me Uncle Aloysius." He smiled at Greg and moved towards the door, brushing past Greg as he did so. Greg was hit by the scent of expensive cologne and before he could help himself had taken a deep breath. He closed his eyes and the image of Mycroft, or perhaps Mycroft's Uncle, naked, flashed briefly before his eyes. What was wrong with him? Greg reached for his blazer and was suddenly aware he was under the intense silver gaze. He blushed. He couldn't help it.

Aloysius Holmes raised one white eyebrow and smiled.

"I think you might be a little young for me Gregory. And besides Mycroft would be terribly upset, he's become quite enamoured of you in such a short time." He moved with surprising ease and grace for such a large man and was halfway up the corridor by the time Greg had realised what he'd just said.


	10. Chapter 10

Greg slipped into the plush red leather interior of the waiting car after Aloysius Holmes and a uniformed driver closed the door behind them. Greg suddenly became overwhelmed by the thought that there was no way out. He was trapped in this leathery prison by Mycroft's Uncle. No escape.

Uncle Aloysius leaned forwards as the car moved off and opened a small fridge that was built into the car's interior. He handed Greg a can of Apple Tango and poured himself a Scotch and Ginger. Greg looked at the can.

"It's not poisoned you know Gregory!"

"Erm. No. It's just that this is like my favourite drink. How did you know that?"

"Mycroft told me."

"How does he know that?"

"My Great-Nephew is very observant."

"Yeah. Why aren't Mycroft's parents here? I mean, no offence, but you're only his Uncle? His great Uncle, so you're what? His father's father's brother? "

"Very good. Unfortunately Mycroft and Sherlock's parents are dead. As is my dear brother Sebastian. I am the boys' guardian. I daresay I am not the most suitable person to bring up two young boys, but I am what there is I'm afraid."

"Cool." Greg opened his can and took a sip. "So, is Mycroft okay?"

"He's a little bruised and a little sore but I think he will recover. With time. And help."

"Yeah."

"My nephew always comes across as somewhat arrogant and unfeeling. And he suffers rather from being very well developed for his age, let's say. And whilst he may have the outward appearance of an adult and the physical urges of an adult, he is still a sixteen year old boy. Albeit a very intelligent one." Greg was squirming as he realised he was getting the _If you hurt him there will be trouble_ talk. "Now Gregory, let me see. You are a scholarship boy? You have above average grades but not as exceptional as your IQ Tests would indicate. Your father makes a reasonable income as a Sergeant in the Metropolitan Police force, but not nearly enough to cover the extra expenses of your education at St Christopher's. Your mother works two jobs, one as a cleaner, and the other as a dinner lady in order to supplement the family income. Your father is worried about paying for you to go to University. And you are worried that if your parents find out you are gay they will disown you."

"What? I'm not gay."

"Mycroft does tell me everything you know?"

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Oh." Greg had gone the same colour as the car seats.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about my dear boy. It's not as if I haven't seen it all before. And done most of it myself. Ah here we are." The car had pulled up outside a rather crusty looking gentleman's club. The door opened and Greg stepped out of the car, rather relived to be out of the close proximity of Mycroft's Uncle. He was ushered inside the door of the club by a liveried doorman and then found himself being steered down a mahogany panelled hallway with Aloysius Holmes hand weighing heavily on his shoulder.

Greg had just settled himself into a large leather chair and watched as Mycroft's Uncle lowered himself into the seat opposite, which creaked a little with his bulk. Then the white haired man leaned forward, piercing Greg with a gaze so intense it was like being x-rayed.

"Now Gregory. Would you be good enough to give me the names of the boys who cut the word homo with a scalpel into my Nephew's chest?"

Greg spent the next hour explaining to Aloysius Holmes the exact nature of the bullying problem they had at St Christopher's. A small gang of boys, led by James Moriarty, who took delight in picking on the weak. A small gang who it seemed were also available for hire, at the right price.

And then they discussed at length Greg's own little problem. It was embarrassing at first, but gradually Greg realised that Aloysius Holmes wasn't going to tell his parents, or his teachers. And then everything came spilling out like a dam had burst. The confusion of feelings Greg just did not understand. Why everything felt brilliant but at the same time felt wrong. How Mycroft knew just by looking at him what he was like. Did that mean everyone else could tell as well? All of the worries Greg had saved up at the back of his head spewed out until he felt drunk. It was like the worst confessional ever.

Uncle Aloysius nodded sagely and gave Greg a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"The way I see it Gregory, is that you seem to be blaming yourself when you haven't actually done anything wrong. You are expecting punishment just for being yourself."

"I just don't want..." He paused.

"Don't want what? All of your friends to desert you? This is of course the point I'm supposed to say that if they were true friends they wouldn't care. I think we both know that's rubbish so I'm not going to waste my breath. At your age your friends are all you have. Or perhaps you don't want to upset your parents? I'm afraid that is inevitable as well. Regardless of how liberal your parents may be on the matter. Parents always have an ideal of what their children will be. And they are so very often disappointed."

"Yeah." Greg thought about the reaction he would get from his dad. His dad who told anyone who would listen that his son was Captain of Rugby at school and was going to follow him into the force and all the rest of it.

"Your father's reaction may surprise you Gregory. After all you don't spend some many years as a policeman without gaining some understanding of human nature."

"Yeah. I don't know. How do you know so much about my family anyway? What did you say you did?"

"I didn't. Let's just say I occupy a minor post within the government."

"Okay."

"Now I really should be getting you back to school. I wouldn't want you to be missed."

The car was waiting outside to take Greg back to St. Christopher's. Aloysius Holmes waved him off from the doorway of the club, and Greg sank back into the leather seats. They still smelled faintly of the big man's cologne.


	11. Chapter 11

Greg sighed and looked around his empty room. The quilt on Mycroft's bed was still crumpled. He straightened it carefully, knowing how his roommate liked everything to be neat. The book was still open on the desk where Uncle Aloysius had left it. Greg shut it and then tried to work out where it should go on the shelf. The books were obviously in some order, but not one Greg could work out. He must have stood there for some time staring at the shelf until he was startled by a small voice.

"It goes there." Sherlock pointed at a slight gap between two other volumes.

"Thanks." Greg replaced the book and turned to face the smaller boy.

"They are in order by Author, then publication date, then relevance to current world events." Sherlock sounded as though he was quoting. Greg noticed the blood on Sherlock's shirt, and the streaks of dirt on his trousers.

"What happened to you? Has someone hurt you?" Greg had failed to protect Mycroft, who he was beginning to realise he was probably falling in love with, but he was certainly not going to let Sherlock be hurt.

"I know who hurt Mycroft. They spat their chewing gum at him. It was in the shower. Mycroft eats lots of sweets, but never chewing gum. It's that Juicy Fruit stuff. The type that doesn't smell minty. There's a boy in one of the other houses who chews it. He took it out today in the dining room and stuck it on his plate whilst he was eating breakfast. It was quite disgusting. His name is Sebastian. I know that just him having the same type of chewing gum doesn't mean that he did it. But he had all scrapes on his knuckles. And a bruise on his chin. The bruise is the same shape as that ring Mycroft sometimes wears." Sherlock paused, picking up one of Mycroft's pens from the desk and twirling it in his fingers.

"And did Sebastian hurt you? Because I'm sure you told him all this."

"He hit me. I suppose it hurt a bit." He put the pen back down. "Mycroft really likes you. He doesn't usually like people. "Greg was getting used to Sherlock's random subject changes.

"He told you that?"

"No. But he looks at you differently to all the others."

"All the others?" Greg was getting a sinking feeling.

"Yes. All the other boys he's let lay on top of him."

"How many of these other boys would there be."

"I don't know exactly. All the ones I've seen. Although there is a probability that they are only a percentage. A conservative estimate would probably be forty?" Greg was trying to remind himself he was having this conversation with an eleven year old.

"Forty?"

"Yes. I don't understand why you all like Mycroft so much. It's probably because he has a very big penis. I heard my cousin Felicity saying so." Here Sherlock switched his voice into what, Greg suspected, was a bitingly accurate mimicry of cousin Felicity "Oh yes. I suppose he's still a bit chubby but My God that boy is hung like stallion." Sherlock shrugged. "Do you think that?"

"I hadn't given it a great deal of thought really." Greg lied. The green eyes looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and then the boy smiled.

"I'm glad you like Mycroft. You're probably nice. Sebastian's not. And neither is that other boy. The Irish one."

"Yeah. You should stay away from him. From both of them. Okay?"

"I suppose." They were interrupted by a shy knock at the door.

"Come in!"

The door was pushed open by John Watson, cheerfully sporting a rapidly spreading black eye.

"What happened to you?" Greg looked from one first year to the other.

"He chinned Sebastian Moran on my behalf. It was most excellent." Sherlock put his arm around John's shoulders. "Come on Watson. Tea is nearly ready!"

Mycroft had returned to school the following day, his bruises already fading and the stitches on his chest healing. It would leave a scar. A brand. They had shaved off some of his chest hair at the hospital. Greg winced when he saw the state of Mycroft's chest. Somehow he felt guilty about it.

"Can they do anything about that? Like maybe plastic surgery?" Greg sat on the edge of his bed.

"The scars will fade. And they think the hair will grow back and cover most of it."

"Yeah but still..." Greg trailed off uncertain what to say. "How's your Uncle?"

"Yes Uncle Ali told me he'd kidnapped you. I trust it wasn't too traumatic?"

"No. He seems nice."

"Yes. He is." There was silence whilst Mycroft finished undressing. "You want to know what happened to my parents." Greg had been thinking it.

"You don't have to say. It's fine." Greg unbuttoned his shirt.

"Here. This is my favourite picture." Mycroft handed Greg a photograph of a laughing, heavily built man with reddish hair. The man was holding a chubby little boy of about eight years old, who was almost helpless with laughter. Next to them a slim, elegant woman smiled indulgently. She was holding a small boy, who looked at the camera with slight confusion. "Father worked for the Government. Mummy and him were killed by a car bomb. They were on their way to see my school play. It was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault. How could it be your fault?" Greg sat down next to Mycroft and put an arm around the bigger boy's bare shoulders. He squeezed gently and noted the almost immediate stirring in Mycroft's boxer shorts.

"I really like you Gregory." Mycroft leaned forwards and kissed him.


	12. Chapter 12

"Would you care to stay the weekend at my home?" Mycroft had asked Greg over breakfast. Greg nearly choked on his Shreddies. Mycroft took a bite out of his fifth sausage and raised an eyebrow.

"Like at your Uncle's house?"

"Well yes. It's where we live now. It's very nice. Out in the country. Of course I will understand if you don't want to. It's Sherlock's birthday on Sunday, I believe his small friend John is joining us."

"Will there be cake?"

"Of course there will be cake. What kind of question is... Oh very good Gregory." Mycroft caught Greg's smirk and scowled at his plate.

"I was only kidding!" Greg looked about. He had become adept over the previous week at ignoring the strange looks he was getting for sitting with Mycroft. Mycroft had suggested that he pretend he had been ordered to sit with him by the Housemaster. Greg was having none of it. When Paul Bradstreet had made comment Greg's reply had been swift.

"_Paul, he got cut with a scalpel and beaten up in the shower by people from another House. Now I don't know about you, but Baker House has a reputation for looking after its own. You might not like Mycroft. But he's in your House. Remember the House code." The House code was basically that no one was allowed to beat up the Baker House boys except other Baker House boys. Paul seemed to accept this. _

"_They cut him with a scalpel?" Paul looked rather sick._

"_Yeah. And wrote with it. He's got to spend the rest of his life with the word Homo cut into his chest."_

"_That's just wrong. Who did it? I bet it was that little pervert Jim from Reichenbach House." _

"So do you want to come and stay or not? It might turn out to be a special weekend."

"Special?" Greg had noticed the strange emphasis on the word.

"You know? Special." And suddenly Greg did know. He knew exactly what kind of special Mycroft had in mind.

"Yes. Yes please." Greg could hardly wait.

The house was large and in the middle of nowhere. The car pulled up outside and they were greeted by Uncle Aloysius looming out of the front doorway. He was dressed casually in chinos and a jumper. Sherlock had burst out of the car, dragging John Watson with him and had then proceeded to talk more in two minutes than Greg had heard him say in the last week. Uncle Aloysius swept his small nephew up into an embrace and then stooped to shake hands with John Watson. Even by first year standards John was tiny and he looked up at the big man.

"Wow!" Was all he could squeak.

"Ah Mycroft! And Gregory! Welcome home boys. Mrs Hudson has been baking all day. I have been chased from the kitchen several times. I believe this means there may be a spectacular meal waiting for us."

"Mrs Hudson is Uncle Ali's Housekeeper." Mycroft explained as they were ushered inside. And indeed there did seem to be some rather delicious smells wafting through the hallway. "Come on I'll show you my room."

Mycroft's room was huge. There were large bay windows overlooking the gardens and a marble fireplace. There was also, Greg noted, a plush looking four poster bed. He felt his cock stirring in his trousers at the thought of Mycroft laid out naked on it. And was interrupted in his thoughts by the sound of a gong.

"That's the dinner gong. Come on."

Greg could not quite remember ever having eaten so much in his life. Mrs Hudson, it seemed, would take personal offence if he didn't eat four helpings of everything. Even Sherlock had, with a little encouragement, got through an entire plateful. John Watson had recovered from his shyness and was currently chatting to Uncle Aloysius about his desire to become a surgeon, in between jam tarts.

"Mycroft?" Uncle Aloysius smiled from the head of the table to where his Nephew was innocently eating a slice of apple pie. "Why don't you go and show Gregory your Vatican Cameos?"

"Now Sir?" Mycroft sounded a little confused. It could have had something to do with Greg's hand which had been stroking up and down his thigh for most of the meal.

"I think it might be the right time. Mycroft's collection is quite exceptional Gregory."

"Yeah. Okay. Cool." Greg was certain that Vatican Cameos must be code for something but he willingly left the table and followed Mycroft up stairs.

John looked at Sherlock for a moment.

"It's all right John. Mycroft and Greg are going to have Sex." Sherlock obviously thought that helped.

"Don't you need a lady for that?" John had blushed a very charming red.

"You only need a lady if you want a baby. Imagine a baby Mycroft. I think it's a good job he doesn't like girls." John considered this for a moment and then nodded in agreement. Uncle Aloysius nearly choked on his treacle sponge listening to the two small boys' version of the facts of life.

"Would you like some more ice cream John?"

"We can have ice cream later!" Sherlock had bounced from his seat. Uncle Aloysius raised an eyebrow. "Er may we get down please? I want to show John the gardens."

"Yes you may. But make sure you wrap up warm!" And Aloysius Holmes was left to enjoy his coffee in peace.

The fire was crackling gently in the grate of Mycroft's room. Somewhere out in the gardens, making the most of the dry weather, Sherlock and his new friend John Watson were zooming around in the leaves looking for hedgehogs and their muffled voices filtered in despite the closed windows.

The bed was large. Covered with expensive linens and cushions. Greg watched, transfixed as Mycroft began undoing his shirt. The hair on his chest had grown back somewhat and the scalpel wounds were almost healed. He'd had yet another growth spurt as well by the looks of him. He seemed taller. Broader. Wider across the shoulders and thicker in the waist. Greg caught his breath as Mycroft pulled his boxer shorts down and off and let his erection spring free.

Mycroft said nothing at all as he reclined on the bed and began to stroke himself, bringing his already hard cock to full attention. One slight raise of the eyebrow was all it needed for Greg to tear off his clothes and join him on the bed.

"Will you take me now?" Greg was almost crying with need.

"Yes."

Mycroft was below him, smiling lazily up as Greg straddled him. He ran his hands over the other boy's thick body, feeling the hardness of his muscles and contrasting it with the softness of his belly. Mycroft moaned and arched up into Greg's touch, his swollen cock brushing against Greg's buttocks. Greg moaned. That was going to be his. Soon. That thick, meaty length was going to be inside him. Owning him. Greg turned his attention to his own erection, jutting above Mycroft's belly and dripping. Greg knew what he must look like. A complete whore.

He grasped hold of his own shaft and stroked himself, coaxing more pre-cum out. It dripped down, sticky, onto the hair on Mycroft's belly. Mycroft reached out a hand, swiping one long finger through the mess and then licking it like he was tasting icing on a birthday cake. Behind him Greg could feel Mycroft's dick getting harder and bigger. Bumping against him, the gentle curve of his shaft following the curve of Greg's arse.

Mycroft was smiling as he lifted Greg up a little and changed the angle of his hips, the tip of his cock now pushing between Greg's cheeks, probing. And then there was a terrible burning as Greg realised he was being entered. He slid down Mycroft's lubed up length, gasping as he became very aware of the size of the thing. There was another moment of intense pleasure as the fat cock pushed against his prostate. And then without warning he found himself spilling all over Mycroft's belly.

And then Mycroft began to thrust.

Greg was rapidly approaching his third orgasm as Mycroft dug his nails into Greg's muscular thighs. Greg clenched around Mycroft and felt sudden warmth flooding him. Mycroft continued to thrust as he rode out his own climax, hardly pausing before he began pounding into Greg once more. Mycroft pulled himself up until he was more or less sitting upright, Greg's legs wrapped around his waist, the angle of approach changed now. Harder. More punishing. Mycroft was letting Greg feel ever y inch of his hardness. Greg's own cock was pressing into the soft flesh of Mycroft's belly, humping against him with every punishing thrust from Mycroft.

Greg's third ejaculation spurted out as Mycroft had whispered in his ear. "That's right Gregory. Come for me. No one else. You. Are. Mine." And they had both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sheets.

"That was amazing." Greg panted. He had never dared imagine that was what it would be like. It hurt. But it hurt so nicely.

"Mmm. Yes. Quite." Mycroft was having trouble with his words. Greg stroked over his boyfriend's sweaty, sticky body, hearing the low rumble of Mycroft's stomach.

"You're not hungry are you? You can't possibly be hungry."

"What? Are you the food police?" His stomach gave a louder growl. Greg reached his hand down to Mycroft's softening cock and gave it a gentle tug. Almost instantly it had started to swell again.

"Well I suppose we have to keep your strength up somehow." The thick shaft was growing with every slow stroke of Greg's hand.

"I think we do." He was quick. And Greg found himself pinned to the bed with his legs being pushed up and once more he was impaled on Mycroft. This time it was fast. Almost brutally quick as thrust after thrust filled and stretched him. All of Mycroft's bulk pinning him down. Greg forgot to breathe. Forgot his own name. He cried out incoherently as he came and seconds later Mycroft collapsed on top of him.

They fell asleep quickly. But it was no surprise when Greg woke two hours later with Mycroft's thick erection nestling between his legs. He was very aware that the whole room smelled of sex. Mycroft's Uncle would know exactly what they had been up to. Greg blushed. The recriminations already starting in his head. This was no longer just a couple of teenagers tossing each other off. He'd actually let Mycroft shag him. Like a girl. Did that make Greg the girl in the relationship?

"Stop thinking so loudly Gregory." Mycroft muttered from the depths of his pillow.

"Are you still hungry?" Mycroft's stomach growled in response. "I think we need to go get you some food." Greg slipped on his dressing gown and padded across the room to the door, intending to sneak down to the kitchen and make some sandwiches. As he opened the door his attention was caught by a tray. There was a jug of fruit juice and several plates containing an assortment of sandwiches and cake. And a note. Addressed to Greg.

_My Dear Gregory. Never worry about what other people might think! If my darling great- nephew is anything like myself he will probably need some refreshments. Most sincerely yours AH._

"Uncle Ali has been going out with Teddy since school." Mycroft reached for his fourth sandwich.

"Who's Teddy?"

"Lord Theodore Frobisher, the ninth Earl of Gresham. He's very nice and a lot of fun and he knows more swearwords than anyone else I've ever met." Mycroft sounded very impressed by this.

"Sounds cool. What does he look like?"

"Sort of short and chunky. I suppose he's quite handsome. He used to have red hair, but it went white. He was apparently voted as London's most desirable bachelor four years running. Back in the day."

"And all the while he was..."

" Yes. Shagging my Uncle. Or letting my Uncle shag him. How they have sex I've never quite worked out. I'm sure they do. Even now. But I've never got my head around the details. It's just that Teddy is a lot smaller than Uncle Ally."

"Mycroft, everyone is a lot smaller than your Uncle." Greg smirked and took a bite of carrot cake.

"Well yes. Everyone says I'm just like him." Mycroft shuddered at the thought.

"There's a resemblance yes."

"I think there's a little more than a passing resemblance." Mycroft shrugged his broad shoulders. Greg tried to imagine Mycroft forty years on and nearly passed out from the image in his head.

"I do wish you would stop that Gregory." Mycroft set his sandwich down.

"Stop what?"

"You know exactly what. Imagining what I'm going to look like. Exactly how fat I'm going to get."

"I don't care how fat you get." Greg leaned forwards, placing a hand between Mycroft's thighs. "As long as you promise to shag me like that every time."

"Of course."

"Shag me 'till I can't see straight. 'Till I forget my own name." Greg took hold of Mycroft's length and squeezed gently.

"Of course."

"Come on then!" And Greg found himself being picked up bodily and pushed against the wall. The framed map of the Solar System fell to the floor with a crash as Greg wrapped his entire being around Mycroft and found himself being filled once more.

It was after midnight when they finally collapsed, too exhausted to bother with showers. Greg fell asleep using Mycroft as a pillow with his hand protectively wrapped around his boyfriend's sticky, still semi erect cock.


	13. Chapter 13

Aloysius Holmes had just poured himself a large brandy and was awaiting the arrival of The Earl of Gresham with eager anticipation. It wasn't without a slight pang of envy that he had deposited the tray outside his eldest Nephew's room. He wished he was still sixteen. Free from the burden of responsibility and able to shag like a rabbit all night. Still old age did have some compensations and he had come to appreciate quality over quantity.

The door of the lounge was pushed open. Sherlock stood in the doorway, minus his pyjama trousers, with a look of horror on his tearful features.

"Uncle Ali? I wet the bed. Again." He walked into the room and Uncle Aloysius set his glass down on the side table. Again was Sherlock's word. Never his Uncle's.

"Well it can't be helped can it? Let's get you washed and into some clean pyjamas and everything will be fine."

"But John will find out. And he'll think I'm a baby. And he won't want to be friends with me anymore. And he won't stay for my birthday." This was the first time anyone outside of the family had attended Sherlock's birthday celebrations.

"I don't think John Watson is the sort of chap who runs at the first sign of trouble. Let's get you sorted out."

Sherlock was left to wash himself whilst clean Pyjamas were located and Mrs Hudson left off watching Inspector Morse to quietly change the sheets without waking John. John was sleeping soundly, one arm curled around a cuddly tiger. It was only when Sherlock was returned that John blearily opened his eyes.

"What's the matter?"

"Sherlock had a bad dream John. It's all fine."

"You can have my tiger." John sleepily held out the slightly grubby tiger. "He'll look after you."

Sherlock accepted the tiger, thoughtfully stroking its fur. John fell asleep. Very shortly afterwards, so did Sherlock, cuddling John's tiger.

Aloysius Holmes returned to the lounge and took a large swig of his Brandy.

"Rough night my darling?" Teddy Frobisher spoke from the shadows making him jump.

"Is that a question or a promise?" Aloysius poured a second glass and handed it to his partner of fifty years.

"It could be both if you want." Teddy slipped off his suit jacket, letting the expensive tailoring fall to the floor, and allowed Aloysius to undo his waistcoat buttons. Which if the truth be told, were getting a little tight. Fifty years with Ali had played havoc with his waistline.

"I think I do." And whilst his Nephews and their friends slept soundly. Aloysius Holmes climbed the stairs to his own bedroom to spend some quality time in the arms of the one he loved.

Greg woke up to a stream of sunlight pushing through the hastily drawn curtains of the previous night. He was warm and more than a little sore. There was the slight tang of sweat and other things in the air. He needed a shower. Badly. To his right, Mycroft was still sound asleep, laying face down on the bed, his breathing slow and even. His usually neat hair was messed up into curls, like Sherlock's, and for once Mycroft look relaxed and very young. Greg moved closer, stroking his hand along Mycroft's broad back until he was pressed up against him. Slowly Greg slipped his hardening cock between the fuzzy rounds of Mycroft's buttocks. He stilled for a moment, wondering if Mycroft was going to wake up and tell him to stop. Mycroft squirmed a little, and then pushed back against Greg.

Very carefully Greg pushed deeper into Mycroft's plush cleft, probing in the velvety softness for his opening and thrusting gently against him. Greg slipped his arm around Mycroft's waist, reaching down to find him hard and weeping. He felt Mycroft press further back against him and clenched his buttocks around Greg.

"Nice. So nice." Mycroft murmured, still half asleep. Greg continued to thrust gently whilst stroking the bigger boy's swollen cock. It took a little over two minutes for Mycroft to spill his release over Greg's fist as it worked up and down and a few moments later Greg found himself coming just from the thought that he was now covered in Mycroft.

"Morning!" Greg smiled into Mycroft's shoulder.

"That was a very nice alarm call."

"I think I need a shower." Greg was aware that the smell in the room was partly him.

"I think I need one too." Mycroft slipped out from under the covers, still half hard, his large cock bouncing in front of him. Greg noticed with some satisfaction the marks his nails had made down Mycroft's muscular back and shoulders. His Mycroft. He hoped. "You can use the en-suite, I'll go down the hall." Mycroft grabbed his dressing gown and left the room.

Greg slid out of bed, looking down at the wreck of sheets and duvet. They should probably strip the bed and get everything in the washing machine. He blushed at the thought of Mrs Hudson having to do it.

The en-suite to Mycroft's room, was, like the rest of the house a study in understated opulence. The bathroom was elegantly fitted with pale gray marble fixtures and dark wood cupboards. The taps, Greg suspected might have actually been real gold. He turned on the shower and let it run for a minute or so to warm up and then examined himself in the mirror. He had never considered himself good looking, just average. He was average height, five foot ten. Average build, just over eleven stone. He wasn't especially bulky like Mycroft, or muscular like Paul, but he was lean and well defined. His eyes were a dark chocolaty brown and his hair was dark too. Except that now as he looked in the mirror at his flattened spikes he could see...only it couldn't be...he wasn't even eighteen. But there it was. A few grey hairs. That killed the erection that had been tickling his stomach dead. He was going grey!


	14. Chapter 14

Greg blushed red under the penetrating gaze of Aloysius Holmes as he took his seat at the breakfast table. The table was loaded with breakfast. It looked like Mrs Hudson had been busy. At the opposite end of the table to Aloysius, Sherlock and John were busy explaining the merits of various sugary breakfast cereals to a stocky, rather handsome man wearing a silk dressing gown with hummingbirds on it. The man, who Greg assumed was The Earl of Gresham, was making short work of a plate of bacon and eggs as he listened.

"Gregory. Good morning! I trust you had a good night's sleep?" Uncle Aloysius twinkled and bit into a large piece of toast smothered in marmalade.

"Yes thank you." Greg lied. There had been very little sleeping going on, which Aloysius knew full well.

"Allow me to present Mycroft and Sherlock's Uncle Teddy." He indicated the man in the dressing gown who flashed Greg a dazzling smile and held out his hand. Greg shook it, somewhat surprised that the hand was large and rough, rather like his Dad's. Not the delicate paw of an aristocrat at all.

"Pleased to meet you My Lord."

"Please, call me Teddy." His voice had the faintest trace of an accent and now he was looking directly at him, Greg could see his eyes were the most alarming electric blue. It was no wonder he'd been voted most eligible whatever it was. The girls must have been throwing themselves at him.

"So what have you done with my darling eldest nephew Gregory?" Greg blushed an even deeper shade of crimson.

"He's still in the shower Sir." Greg slid into the seat to the left of Aloysius Holmes.

"Mycroft takes forever in the bathroom." Sherlock piped up. "He's worse than Cousin Felicity." This made John Watson giggle.

"Unlike you, you disgustingly unwashed little package!" Mycroft appeared in the doorway. Greg's heart skipped several beats. Mycroft was wearing Greg's Ramones T-shirt and a pair of black fitted jeans. The bad boy effect was ruined a moment later as he kissed both of his Uncles on the cheek before taking his place at the table. Uncle Aloysius looked delighted at his Nephew's change of wardrobe.

"So boys what would you like to do today?"

"Can we go to the woods?" Sherlock bounced in his seat. "Please? Only John's never seen a deer before, well not really. And there's rabbits and pheasants and we might find a skeleton!"

"What a real skeleton?" John Watson had begun bouncing a little as the promise of adventure was laid before him.

"Please Uncle Teddy?" Sherlock pleaded with huge green eyes.

"Only if you finish your cereal and eat some toast." Uncle Teddy made it clear by his tone that further negotiation was not an option. Greg wondered if he worked for the diplomatic service.

"What about you two? It seems a shame to spend all day inside. Perhaps Gregory would like to see the village? And then we can all meet back here at say two o'clock for a late luncheon?" Greg was trying hard to comprehend eating for the rest of the day after the breakfast that was currently before him, but it seemed that Uncle Aloysius had no such fears. Neither, it seemed, did Mycroft as he reached for the Sugar Puffs.

The village was predictably pretty. Like a postcard, with a church and a village green and rows of neat stone cottages and a duck pond. There was a pub called The Crooked House and a shop which seemed to sell every type of sweets known to humanity. Mycroft bought Greg a quarter of aniseed twists and himself a quarter of treacle toffee. Greg was a little disappointed that Mycroft was now wrapped up against the chilly autumn air in a thick Arran sweater and waxed jacket. He'd quite liked the view all through breakfast of Mycroft in that tight t-shirt.

The Tithe Barn was a neat brick built building just on the outskirts of the village. The brickwork looked as though it had been recently re-pointed and the woodwork was freshly painted. Mycroft produced a large key from his inside pocket.

"My family own a lot of the property in the village. We go back to the doomsday book."

"Cool!" Greg peered in though the dark doorway whilst Mycroft busied himself lighting candles. As the gentle flickering illuminated the interior Greg suddenly became aware he was not standing in some dusty old barn, but in a neatly decorated room. Taking up most of the centre of the room was a large bed. In one corner Mycroft was busy lighting a wood-burning stove and setting a kettle to boil on the top. Greg shut the door behind him, closing out the village and the cool air.

"What is this place?"

"It used to be the tithe barn. Where one tenth of the produce of the village was given to the church. One in ten you see. Uncle Ali bought it as a ruin and had it restored. He thought there was something rather ironic about using it for him and Teddy's romantic interludes when they were younger."

"You really like your uncle don't you?"

"Yes. He is the most wonderful man. Imagine you spent your whole life doing whatever you liked with no obligations to anything or anyone. You were entirely free to choose whatever you did. And then one morning you woke up to find Social Services on the doorstep with two small boys who were suddenly your responsibility. He could have easily said no. But he didn't. Neither did Teddy. They didn't hesitate. Can you imagine what would have happened to us if we had gone into care? Or a foster home? Uncle Ali saved us."

"You said him and Teddy had been going out since school?"

"Yes. Fifty years. They met at prep school when they were eleven. They've been best friends ever since. I think they finally realised they loved one another when they were about sixteen. Of course back then it was illegal. And it didn't help that Teddy was supposed to marry some heiress and continue the family line. With Uncle Ali it wasn't so much of a problem, he was the youngest son, my grandfather had already married so no one really cared whether Ali got married or not."

"So what did Teddy do?"

"Turned round and told his father the truth. Apparently the Eighth Earl already knew. He'd been waiting for Teddy to pluck up the courage to tell him. He was more upset that Teddy had been frightened of him than the fact he was gay. I believe the Eighth Earl had a younger brother who was gay, he had an affair with Noel Coward during the war."

"Wow! What happened to him?"

"He was killed storming a machine gun post at Normandy. That's him." Mycroft pointed to a picture on the wall. It was a fairly standard picture of a college rowing team. Mycroft had indicated a stocky, handsome young man with a broad smile. He looked very much like Uncle Teddy. "Oh that's Uncle Ali and Uncle Teddy when they were at Cambridge." Aloysius Holmes was seated, his hair was dark and whilst he was by no stretch of the imagination slim, he was about half the size he was now. Stood next to him, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist a young Teddy Frobisher smiled out of the frame.

"We should get a picture done." Greg looked at the other framed photographs on the walls. Fifty years of holidays and weddings and family occasions recorded forever.

"Really? Whatever for?"

"So we can look back at them in fifty years time." Greg slipped his hand in to Mycroft's and squeezed. "And remember when and how we came to love one another?" Greg closed his eyes. That might have been going too far.

"Yes. I'd like that." Mycroft smiled down at Greg, and then with one fluid movement he picked him up and dumped him on the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Aloysius Holmes smiled down at his family from the head of the table. When Mycroft had mentioned Gregory in his first letter home, Aloysius had hoped that in young Mr Lestrade, Mycroft might have found something special. They had never really talked about Mycroft's sexuality, but it had been fairly obvious from an early age he was gay. Aloysius had given him an outline of the basic mechanics of the act and made it clear that further instruction was available if required. Mycroft was a quick learner, and used his advanced physical development to his advantage. Sadly, despite his intelligence and his size Mycroft had a rather naive outlook on matters of the heart. A lot of the earlier encounters had been with older boys. Most of them had used him for their own pleasure, with little regard for Mycroft. As a result his view of what love and sex were and how the related to each other had become very skewed.

Gregory was different. He was the first boy Mycroft had mentioned by name and the first boy about whom Mycroft had included any details. And the first boy about whom he had consulted Uncle Aloysius for advice. Aloysius was realistic enough to know that telling his nephew to take things slowly was pointless. At that age you wanted everything yesterday and if memory served him correctly you had a near permanent erection that took some getting rid of.

Gregory was a nice boy, of course, if a little uncomfortable with his sexuality in the wider world. And of course there was that unfortunate predilection he seemed to have with rugby players and the larger gentleman in general. Still that did work to Mycroft's advantage as even if he starved himself the poor boy was never going to be small, not with those shoulders. All in all it was rather satisfactory. And they would soon cure Gregory of his embarrassment.

"Did you have a pleasant morning in the village Mycroft?"

"Yes. Yes we did."

"You had sex again didn't you?" Sherlock piped up.

"Do be quiet Sherlock." Mycroft set down his knife and glared at his younger brother. Sherlock smiled and busied himself with his Egg and Soldiers. Mycroft returned to his lunch somewhat half heartedly.

Actually he and Greg had not had sex. After Mycroft had picked Greg up and threw him onto the bed and he'd pulled his bulging erection out of his jeans and divested himself of several layers of clothing something rather strange had happened to him. He'd looked down at Greg, laying there like a fallen angel, looking at him with those dark chocolate eyes. Greg was breathing slowly, his t-shirt pushed up to reveal his lean muscular torso. And then Mycroft had suddenly been hit by a wave of uncertainty which had left him floundering. Greg was talking about love. About falling in love. With him. Mycroft Holmes. Greg had let Mycroft do all those things to him because he loved him. Greg was talking about the future. As if there was one.

It would have been very easy to have taken Greg as he lay there, begging for Mycroft to have him again. But whilst Mycroft didn't understand love, he understood right and wrong. He couldn't possibly take advantage of Greg like this. It was never going to be the same as Uncle Ali and his beloved Teddy, because Mycroft was wrong on the inside. He knew he was wrong because when he tried to think of his parents, who he was told loved him and Sherlock more than anything, he felt nothing. No sadness. No love. Nothing. And it was the same with everyone else.

"Mycroft?" He snapped out of his thoughts as his Uncle spoke.

"Yes Sir?"

"Are you all right?" Aloysius could always tell when something was bothering his eldest nephew. Far more easily, in fact, than his younger brother.

"Yes." The lie was gossamer transparent. Aloysius Holmes raised one silvery eyebrow but said no more. There would be more to come of course, but only when Mycroft was ready.

John and Sherlock were talking excitedly about that morning's discoveries. In addition to various wildlife, they had collected a number of small animal skeletons to add to Sherlock's slightly macabre collection. John Watson was also very enthusiastic about Uncle Teddy, who in addition to having a gun could also climb trees and knew the Latin names of everything. Teddy, Aloysius knew, had always wanted children of his own. They had looked at various options, including adoption for which they had been turned down immediately. Aloysius knew it had been the one sticking point in their relationship. The one thing he couldn't give him. (That had never stopped them trying though!) And then almost as though his wish had been granted, there had been that terrible phone call. And suddenly they had two small boys. They always said you should be careful what you wished for.

Greg was confused. One moment he had been on the bed, fumbling with his belt as Mycroft loomed over him, the next moment Mycroft was doing his jeans back up and saying they should be getting back. Mycroft who was currently pushing his food around his plate with little enthusiasm. Maybe Greg had laid it on a bit thick with the whole "I love you" thing. But Mycroft had seemed okay with it all. To begin with. And now as he tried to swallow his lunch Greg was aware of a horrible lump in his throat. Mycroft had been fantasy made real for Greg. Like someone had granted him his deepest most personal wish. They always said you should be careful what you wished for.

Greg stood in the garden, watching the sun dipping down below the horizon, when he became aware of a figure standing next to him. Teddy Frobisher smiled his dazzling smile in the half light and lit up a cigarette.

"Want one?" He offered the packet to Greg.

"Erm, no thanks."

"Something the matter?"

"No. Not really." Greg sighed.

"Want to talk about it?" There was silence for a moment. "I know we must seem rather ancient to you, but it really wasn't so long ago that Ali and me were eighteen you know? He was rather lovely when he was eighteen, tallest boy in the school and he had this amazing black hair, a bit like young Sherlock's. It used to go all into ringlets if it got wet. Used to drive him mad, that's why he has it cut so short now." Teddy took a long pull on his cigarette.

"Does Mr Holmes... I mean Uncle Aloysius... does he love you?"

"Yes. And I love him. Very much."

"How do you know? How do you know when you really love someone and it's not just the excitement of something new?"

"Greg have you ever had a boyfriend before?"

"No." Greg knew he was blushing. It was hard not to when you were having the most awkward conversation of your life with your boyfriend-not-quite's drop dead gorgeous Uncle-not-quite.

"Girlfriend? Small mammal?"

"No." Greg could feel the tears beginning to prick the back of his eyes. If he started crying that would be his humiliation complete. Teddy Frobisher was going to think he was a sad little idiot, latching on to the first person that showed an interest in him and then crying when the guy got freaked out by it.

"So it was love at first sight with little Mikey then?" Another pull on the cigarette, the tip glowing red, mirroring the glow of the dwindling sun. "I've only ever had the one boyfriend myself. Nothing wrong with that at all. If you get lucky first time, why change?"

"And how did you know?"

"I don't know. I can't remember the exact moment when it changed from being best friends to something else. I do remember I felt very strange on the inside. And of course I was terrified that Ali wasn't going to feel the same way. Actually I was more scared he'd go off with someone taller."

"He just looked at me like I was crazy. Like he didn't understand what I was saying." The tears were running down his cheeks. He just couldn't help it.

"He probably didn't. He's only a kid and he's had some big stuff to deal with. Our family situation is not ideal although we do our best. He went through puberty when he was nine, just after his parents died, and he has one of the highest IQs ever recorded. There's only two other people in the same percentile. Have a guess which two. Everyone looks at that young man and expects him to be an adult. Very few forgive him when he acts like the scared little boy he actually is. Give him some time. He really likes you. He's never asked anyone else to come and stay. You're the first." Teddy put a comforting arm around Greg's shoulders and Greg leant into the shorter man's stocky frame, being comforted by a bone crushing hug and squashed against Teddy's soft belly. "I think it will all work out fine Greg. Now I wonder what Mrs Hudson is cooking for dinner?"

Inside, in the study, away from prying eyes, Aloysius Holmes had just had an almost identical conversation with Mycroft. Twenty minutes of confusion had flooded out of the poor boy in a stream of consciousness a man of lesser intelligence would have failed to understand. And right at that moment Aloysius Holmes was thanking whatever deity happened to be in charge of such things for making him quite so large. One advantage of his size was that he would always be bigger than his Nephew. Mycroft was sobbing into his Uncle's shoulder about how unfair everything was. Why couldn't he be like everyone else? Why couldn't he be normal?

Aloysius sat Mycroft down on the sofa in the study and gently cradled the boy, just like he had done when he was younger, stroking his hair until Mycroft fell asleep pillowed against his Uncle's bulk. He ran a handkerchief over the boy's face, drying the tears. The pale blue silk rasped against Mycroft's stubble and Aloysius was reminded of how fleeting childhood actually was. And quite how cruel it was that everyone had to grow up.


	16. Chapter 16

"What's the matter with Mycroft?" Sherlock stood in front of his Uncle with a mildly confused expression. His big brother had been acting rather strangely. "Is it because of Gregory?"

"Yes. Yes it is." Aloysius sipped his tea.

"Doesn't he like him anymore?"

"No. Quite the opposite in fact."

"He lets Greg lay on top of him and do things. Like you do with Uncle Teddy." Sherlock had an unfortunate habit of walking in at the most awkward moments. "With no clothes on." He clearly felt more detail was needed.

"Yes. I'm sure he does."

"So if he likes him, why is he being weird?" Sherlock's definition of weird was somewhat different to everyone else's.

"Sherlock, Mycroft is at a difficult age. He's still not quite sure of himself and sometimes he gets confused. He really likes Gregory."

"Gregory likes him. What's confusing about that?"

"I think that somehow Mycroft does not believe he is good enough for Gregory. And that Gregory will discover this shortly and wish to end their relationship. So Mycroft is reluctant to commit himself to getting his heart broken."

"That's just silly. Mycroft's brilliant. Why wouldn't Gregory want to be with him forever?"

"Sherlock I know it ought to be as simple as that. But sadly it isn't. Now where is your excellent young friend John?"

"He's helping Mrs Hudson. He's peeling potatoes."

"Really?"

"Yes. He's terribly good at it. He can get the peel really thin. His father said that if he wants to be a surgeon he has to practice his knife control."

"Very sensible. I've never had surgically peeled potatoes before." Sherlock giggled at the thought.

"I know there's all this stuff going on, but you haven't forgotten it's my birthday tomorrow?" Sherlock had never been bothered about his birthday before. In fact he had always seemed to regard it as a matter of utmost insignificance. Aloysius suspected it may have something to do with the presence of the small blond haired cherub currently spud-bashing in his kitchen.

"When have we ever forgotten your birthday Sherlock?"

"I suppose. I'm going to help John and Mrs Hudson. "And Sherlock raced from the room in the direction of the kitchens. A clattering in the corridor and the sound of human colliding with larger human. There were mumbled apologies and then a knock at the door.

"Come in." Aloysius put down his book and looked up. Gregory Lestrade stood in the door way. There was no denying the boy was handsome with those brooding dark looks. Not the type Aloysius would have chosen, but he could still appreciate the aesthetics.

"Sorry. To interrupt. I was wondering if I could ask your advice?"

"Of course dear boy. Was Teddy no help?" Aloysius had sent his lover out into the garden earlier. He didn't approve of his smoking but had decided that desperate times required desperate measures.

"No. I mean yes. I mean he told me what was going on with Mycroft. About how he's still screwed up over his parents and everything. And how he's only sixteen. I get that. I just ... How do I make him happy?" The chocolaty eyes were red and watery. Gregory had perched himself in the seat opposite Aloysius, looking out from under long lashes at the big man. And blushing slightly. Aloysius had noted with amusement Gregory's reaction to him the first time they had met.

"Making Mycroft happy is a not an easy thing to do. Did you enjoy having sex with him? You did have sex last night?"

"Yes." Bright red. "How did you know?"

"Well your bed wasn't slept in and Mrs Hudson did ask why Mycroft's bed linen was in the washing machine? I assume you found it pleasurable?"

"Yes." Greg was trying to imagine having a conversation this candid with his father.

"Excellent! First times are always so difficult. Trying to work out what goes where and what you like and what you don't and who sleeps on which side of the bed. It's a wonder anyone ever tries it twice. Anyway: How to make Mycroft happy. At the moment he's confused. You need to make him feel safe. And then worry about making him happy. Making him feel safe, you'll be pleased to know, is a whole lot easier. Don't tell him you love him. Not yet. Actually don't say anything. He's in his room at the moment. Just go up and sit with him. And see what happens. Run along now, there's a good chap." Aloysius smiled as he watched Gregory leave the room. He was about to pick up his book when the door was opened once more.

"Gin and Tonic love?" Teddy leant against the door frame holding two clinking fizzing glasses. Aloysius stood, giving up his book as a lost cause.

"How about something a little more energetic? " He stood inches away from the smaller man, a slightly dangerous expression on his face.

"By all means. What's got into you all of a sudden?" Pre dinner sex was something that happened only rarely these days.

"I think it must be the teenagers. "

"Do you think they might be contagious?" Teddy pulled the bigger man against him.

"Yes I rather think they are." Aloysius pulled Teddy towards the sofa and hoped there would be no further interruptions.

"Mycroft?" Greg said it quietly. The bigger boy was laying on his bed reading. Greg sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hello." Mycroft blushed pink and shut his book.

"Shall we start again?" Greg placed his hand on the small of Mycroft's back. Gently. Hoping he wouldn't pull away.

"Okay. What did you have in mind? Or what did Uncle Teddy and Uncle Ali tell you to do?"

"Well nothing specific really. But I think we have to trust one another. And we have to be friends. I really liked all the stuff we did last night but I like you more than that."

"You do? You weren't just saying it?"

"Just for the record all of those boys you've been with before? I will kill all of them."

"None of them meant anything to me."

"Yes. And that's the problem. They should have done. For better or worse. You went out of your way to make my first time special. And no one did that for you. I bet they just saw you as a handsome stud with a big dick that was there solely for their pleasure."

"Handsome stud?"

"Yes." Greg moved his hands to Mycroft's shoulders. "Handsome stud with very tense shoulders. Take your shirt off." Mycroft obliged. Greg looked down at the broad body and felt a spark of lust in his groin. He pulled his own t-shirt over his head and straddled Mycroft's back.

"That's nice." Mycroft murmured

"Yep. Are you sure you don't go to the gym? In secret?" Greg could feel the well developed muscles under his fingers, the kind of muscle that was built with lifting weights.

"Only very occasionally." Mycroft sounded relaxed and sleepy. Greg rubbed his thumbs into the knotted shoulder muscles and worked his way down Mycroft's back. He could feel Mycroft relaxing under him, until his breathing slowed and Greg realised Mycroft was asleep. Greg rolled off and snuggled into Mycroft's warm body, pulling a blanket over them both. In his sleep Mycroft smiled and turned, placing a heavy arm over Greg. He looked happy.


	17. Chapter 17

Greg woke up with Mycroft's warm heavy weight pressed against him. Bare flesh on flesh. He could feel the gentle push of Mycroft's groin against his thigh and the soft hiss of his breath on Greg's shoulder. Greg could also smell the reassuring scent of warmth and aftershave and coconut mushrooms. He nuzzled a little closer in to Mycroft and ran a hand along the bigger boy's torso, enjoying the feel of his soft chest hair. Mycroft didn't stir, except to lean further towards Greg, a look of peaceful happiness on his face. Greg kissed the top of his head and smiled.

A few moments later there was a tentative knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Hello Gregory." Uncle Aloysius stayed in the doorway, filling it. "I was wondering if you boys would like some dinner?"

Greg moved slightly and propped himself up on his elbow, reluctantly losing the contact with Mycroft. He did actually feel rather hungry. And he was certain Mycroft would be too, once he woke up. The bigger boy rolled over on to his back, moving in to the space vacated by Greg. Greg could not help but notice the large bulge in the front of Mycroft's jeans. "That's because of me." He thought to himself.

"It's a nice feeling isn't it?" Aloysius Holmes smiled.

"Yeah." Greg smiled back blushing a little. He had forgotten that Mycroft's Uncle could read him like a book.

"What is?" Mycroft mumbled, arching up a little and scratching his belly.

"Nothing. Dinner's ready." Mycroft's belly gave a little growl and he bounced off the large bed. Suddenly realising he wasn't wearing a shirt. Greg noticed the blush creeping along Mycroft's broad shoulders. Aloysius Holmes diplomatically retreated.

"Five minutes boys!" The stairs creaked as the big man descended them. When Greg turned round, Mycroft had removed his jeans.

"What are you doing? Dinner's ready in five minutes."

"Getting changed. A gentleman cannot go to dinner in clothes he has slept in." Greg wasn't sure if Mycroft was serious or not. He presumed he was as Mycroft had pulled a pair of smart black trousers out of the wardrobe. Greg stood watching as Mycroft pulled the silky material up over his muscular thighs, tucking his semi-hard bulge inside them.

"Mycroft?" Greg slipped his jeans and boxers down to the floor.

"Yes?" Mycroft was rummaging in the Wardrobe for a shirt.

"Turn around." Obediently Mycroft turned and looked Greg up and down. Greg was naked; his clothes puddled at his feet, his hard cock brushing against his flat stomach. Mycroft let his trousers fall to the floor.

"I suppose we could be a few minutes late for dinner." Mycroft stepped forwards, out of his trousers, pushing his boxer shorts down as he moved and flicking them off with expert precision. Greg smiled and held out his arms, wrapping himself around Mycroft and feeling his erection being crushed against Mycroft's belly as the larger boy picked him up and laid them both carefully down on the bed. There was the briefest of pauses and then Greg felt Mycroft's slick hardness push inside him. Yes. Dinner could definitely wait.


	18. Chapter 18

Dinner was awkward. Which was a great pity as it was also quite delicious. But it was hard to concentrate on Mrs. Hudson's Steak and Kidney Pie when you were still a little damp from a rather hurried shower. And when you weren't the only one.

Sherlock had looked at Greg's damp hair, then at Mycroft's, nudged John and whispered something. John had looked equal parts horrified and awestruck. Both small boys had caught a disapproving glance from Uncle Ali at the head of the table. And both small boys had dissolved into further giggles when Uncle Teddy had appeared a few moments after Greg and Mycroft, with his hair decidedly damp.

But what made it most uncomfortable for Greg was the warmth radiating from the boy sitting next to him. And knowing that just twenty minutes earlier he had been wrapped up in that solid, warm flesh. And he could smell the low musky scent leaking from Mycroft's pores. And he could feel his trousers getting tighter and tighter and hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself at the table.

Mycroft seemed oblivious as he reached for his third lot of mashed potatoes and then drowned them in gravy. Greg sighed, wondering if he would ever stop having to play second string to Mycroft's stomach. Mycroft lifted a loaded fork to his mouth and chewed casually, holding the fork in his left hand. And just as casually, with his right hand he gently took hold of Greg's left and guided it under the table.

Greg very nearly spat his pie over the white damask table cloth. Mycroft, it seemed, was capable of indulging in more than one pleasure at a time and Greg could feel him standing rock hard in his straining trousers. Greg swallowed as best he could.

"Is everything all right Gregory?" Uncle Ali smiled at him. Greg felt trapped.

"Yes." He managed to squeak out.

"Are you sure, you seem a little distracted."

"No I'm fine." It just wasn't fair. Mycroft pushed against his hand, it felt like the material of his trousers was going to give out any moment. "May I be excused for a moment?" Greg was blushing crimson.

"Yes of course." The big man smiled at him and Greg fled from the table. He was out of earshot and didn't hear Uncle Ali's reproach to his nephew. " Mycroft, you are naughty."

Greg locked the door of the bathroom, realising he was horribly out of breath and he fumbled with his belt and the buttons of his trousers. He just managed to pull his boxer shorts down before his dick erupted. He sighed shakily as he cleaned himself up. This was not good. He'd couldn't remember ever being so horny.

"Greg, are you okay?" Mycroft tapped on the door, making Greg jump.

"Yes. Go away." Greg looked down at the mess of soggy tissue in the toilet and then at his still semi-hard cock.

"Let me in." Mycroft rattled the door handle.

"No. Mycroft. Seriously. Go away." His erection jutted painfully upwards, getting harder by the second.

"Please?"

"Okay, okay." Greg relented and unlocked the door allowing the bigger boy to slip into the small bathroom. Greg was very aware that his trousers were puddle round his ankles. Mycroft smiled taking in Greg's erection and muscular legs and cum splattered six pack.

"Very nice." Mycroft slowly undid his own trousers and let them drop to the floor, pushing his boxers down after them and then undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one. Greg stood transfixed as Mycroft's hairy belly and chest were revealed, barely aware that his cock was dripping as he watched. Mycroft's own length was stood to attention, the thick shaft following the curve of his belly and the tip bulging two inches above his belly button. Mycroft put his arms around Greg and lifted him bodily onto the vanity unit. And then very, very slowly he pushed his massive erection between Greg's thighs. It took twenty seconds for Greg to come, all over himself and Mycroft, the stickiness smeared between them as Mycroft adjusted his grip and hoisted Greg a little higher.

"He's so strong." Greg thought. And then his mind whited out as he felt himself being entered and lowered down onto Mycroft. There was nothing he could do but wrap his muscly legs around Mycroft's broad back and hold on. After what seemed like forever he felt Mycroft come in hot thick spurts, but Mycroft showed no signs of stopping as he continued to pound into his lover. Greg caught sight of himself in the mirror. Him and Mycroft. Greg realised he looked like a whore being filled repeatedly by his hunky boyfriend. And he realised he didn't care as his dick erupted once more.

"That's it. That's it Greg. Come for me." And then Mycroft was lowering them both to the floor and letting his whole weight down on top of Greg, the mess of come between them sliding around and coating their bellies. And still there was that hardness punishing and pleasuring him at the same time. It took another five minutes of relentless pounding and another orgasm ripping from Greg before finally Mycroft slowed down and with three brutal thrusts, letting Greg have every inch of length and girth, he began coming.

"That was amazing!" Greg panted. "And messy."

"Sorry. I just had to." Mycroft reached for a towel and began dabbing at the mess covering his stomach.

"Here. Let me do that." Greg reached for the towel and rubbed it against the other boy's soft belly. "We should probably be getting back to dinner. I'm sure we've been missed by now."

"Yes. I'm quite sure we have. And I'm quite sure no one cares." Mycroft stilled Greg's hand and leant forward to kiss him.

"And you're telling me that after that you're not hungry?" Greg smiled.

"I do think I might love you Gregory." Mycroft smiled back and then blushed as his stomach gave a loud growl.


	19. Chapter 19

Greg's face had been crimson as he had taken his seat at the table. Mycroft seemed unaffected, and had simply sat down and enthusiastically began working his way through pudding as though he hadn't just screwed Greg senseless in the downstairs lavatory. Uncle Ali smiled indulgently at his eldest nephew and then at Greg. Somehow that made it worse.

"Mycroft tells me you play rugby Greg?" Teddy reached for the cream and then offered the jug to Greg.

"Yes. I do. I'm School Captain." He poured cream over his chocolate sponge.

"Excellent. You must be very talented. What position?" For a split second Greg was not entirely sure they were talking about sport.

"Erm, Wing mostly. Although sometimes at full back. Did you play?" Greg remembered the pictures of the athletic young man he had seen earlier.

"Yes. I was a scrum half. Ali wasn't all that interested in Sports, were you my darling?"

"I'm not built for running."

"Of course, before he left for school, we couldn't get Little Mikey here out of the gym." Mycroft scowled at his pudding, clearly he didn't like his childhood nickname.

"Ha. I knew it!" Greg smirked. "I knew all that muscle must have come from somewhere!" Then Greg returned to being bright red as he realised what he'd just said.

"It was only so Little Mikey could do his trousers up!" Sherlock added helpfully, fidgeting in his seat.

"Do shut up Sherly-Curly." Mycroft put his spoon down. Sherlock gave his brother a poisonous look.

"Sherlock, you and John may get down now." Uncle Ali said it quietly but firmly. The meaning clear. Discussion over. Mycroft gave a quick and heartfelt look of gratitude to his Uncle.

"Come on John. Let's go and see if the hedgehogs are back!" And without waiting, Sherlock was gone. John shovelled the last two spoons of his ice cream into his mouth, shuddering a little with brain freeze before following.

"Well that should keep them busy for a while." Uncle Ali said it with more than a little amusement. "Now boys, as delighted as I am that you are getting on so nicely with each other, would it be possible to confine your activity to the bedroom. Hand-jobs at the dinner table are hardly appropriate with two small children around."

Greg wanted to die there and then.

"Sorry Sir." He mumbled not daring to look at Mycroft. Mycroft obviously didn't dare look at him either.

"And if you are going to have sex in the cloakroom, at least do it quietly, poor Mrs Hudson could hardly hear Midsomer Murders over the noise. Is there any chocolate pudding left?"

And Greg realised that was as near to a telling off as they were going to get. And in all honesty he would have probably found it easier if Aloysius Holmes had shouted. They continued in silence for a while.

"May we get down please?" Mycroft spoke quietly.

"You may. But keep the noise down, there's a good chap."

Mycroft rolled an eyebrow at Greg, asking him to follow and almost on tiptoe they left the dining room.

"You know." Aloysius smiled down the table at Teddy. "I find just looking at those two quite exhausting."

Mycroft quietly closed the door of his room behind them. Greg sighed and sat down on the bed to take his shoes off.

"Well that was embarrassing. Just as well your uncle's cool about stuff. So what do you want to do? Watch a film or...oh!" Greg looked over his shoulder to see Mycroft just removing his last sock. Mycroft smiled wickedly and drew himself up to his rather impressive full height, his hardening cock bobbing in front of him. "I thought your uncle said..."

"He said to make sure we were quiet. Do you think you can manage that Gregory?" Mycroft reclined on the bed and began to stroke himself lazily. Greg smiled and began to undress.

"I'll certainly give it a try."


	20. Chapter 20

"Are they all settled?" Aloysius Holmes reclined on the large four poster bed in a pair of elegant pale grey silk pyjama trousers.

"Yes. John went out like a light. Sherlock wasn't far behind, but he had to keep asking questions." Teddy pulled off his shirt. "I think he's actually excited about his birthday."

"I must say John Watson is an excellent influence. I do hope they stay friends. I think they could do wonderful things together." Aloysius smiled at Teddy, watching him undress. The years had done nothing to diminish their feelings for one another and when Aloysius looked at Teddy, he supposed he still saw him as the beautiful boy he had known in his youth. Which was rather wonderful.

"I have no doubt they will." Teddy pulled on dark blue pyjama trousers, the silky material sliding sensuously up his muscular legs.

"I just hope the other two work out that there is more to a relationship than sex." Aloysius sighed and opened his arms wide for Teddy to embrace him.

"Well it took us long enough." Teddy settled down next to the big man, smiling wickedly. "And I'm still not entirely convinced."

"Hmm, neither am I. Shall we do some more research into the matter?"

"I think we should. Just to be on the safe side." Teddy was just about to push his pyjama trousers off when the door of the bedroom opened. Sherlock stood looking bereft in the door way, one hand clutching on to John's tiger and the other holding up his wet pyjama bottoms. Teddy sighed and hauled himself off the bed.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock spoke in a small voice, looking confused. "I didn't mean to."

"It's all right. It was an accident." Teddy put the tiger safely out of the way and turned his attention back to Sherlock. The small boy shivered slightly.

"I tried to get to the bathroom, but I wasn't quick enough." Sherlock stepped out of his soggy trousers.

"Well let's get you cleaned up and back to bed then." Teddy shepherded Sherlock towards the bathroom, giving a slightly rueful look at his waiting lover.

"Thank-You" Aloysius said it quietly.

"What for?"

"For being the father of my children." Aloysius Holmes smiled and raised his eyebrow suggesting that once Sherlock was sorted there would be a worthwhile reward waiting for Teddy.

Greg was fast asleep on top of Mycroft, who was surprisingly comfortable. Mycroft's erection pushed lazily into Greg's stomach and Greg gently rose and fell with Mycroft's steady breathing. In his sleep, although both boys were unaware of it, Greg nuzzled against Mycroft's neck and drank in the musky scent. It seemed to comfort him and calm his dreams. Mycroft placed a protective hand across Greg's back, drawing him closer and pressing his hardness more firmly into Greg's body, the tip rubbing against the taught stomach muscles and leaking. In the morning both boys would find themselves covered in their mingled ejaculate, but for the time being, neither woke.


	21. Chapter 21

"Mycroft, wake up!" A small body launched at the bed, landing on top of Mycroft, who woke up groggily.

"Sherlock! Get off of me!" Mycroft attempted to sit up but was impeded by his brother, the duvet, and the still sleeping Greg Lestrade.

"It's my birthday!"

"I know it's your birthday."

"I'm twelve."

"If you want to be thirteen, get off of me." Mycroft was somewhat uncomfortable and Sherlock was dangerously close to kneeing him in his painfully hard morning erection. Mycroft freed his arms from the bed covers and held Sherlock away from him.

"This room smells funny." Sherlock giggled and squirmed as Mycroft bench pressed him so the smaller boy was suspended two feet above the bed. "Does it smell of sex?"

"Do be quiet Sherlock."

"I bet it does. "

"Does what?" Greg turned over and was surprised to see Sherlock floating above him.

"Smell of sex!" Sherlock repeated it gleefully. Mycroft let him back down on the bed so Sherlock was resting on top of him.

"Sorry, he's obsessed!" Mycroft moved gingerly, feeling Greg brush against him.

"Isn't it your birthday?" Greg asked. Sherlock was bouncing gently on top of his brother.

"Yes, I'm twelve!"

"Well happy birthday Sherlock!"

"Thank you. I'm going to see if there are any presents. Are you going to have sex again? If you are be quick, we're having a birthday breakfast." With one final bounce he slipped off the bed and excited, slamming the door. Mycroft let out the breath he had been holding and got out of bed.

He stretched himself out and from Greg's point of view on the bed it did look like the exaggerated stretching was mainly for show. And Greg was certainly enjoying the view of Mycroft's broad body with its bulky muscles and gently rounded belly. Greg's own erection was tenting the bedclothes. He smiled and drew back the covers to show Mycroft what was on offer.

"I really have to use the bathroom!" Mycroft looked apologetic as he said it and made a quick dash for the ensuite. A few seconds later Greg heard the distinctive sounds of cursing as Mycroft tried to pee. He returned a few minutes later, looking slightly more relaxed.

"Is that better?" Greg ran a hand down his stomach and gripped himself gently.

"Much!" Mycroft joined Greg on the bed once more, lowering himself down until their erections were touching.

"Hang on!" Greg knew he wasn't going to last long with the combination of Mycroft and his rather full bladder to contend with.

Mycroft rested a little more of his weight on top of Greg and his probing hardness pushed up against Greg's belly button. Greg slipped his hands around Mycroft's back and slid them down to grip his backside. Mycroft moaned and shivered a little before lowering his while body onto Greg. He was heavy and the pressure of his weight pressing down almost made Greg shoot his load right there and then. He gripped hold of Mycroft's buttocks more firmly, trying to communicate without words what he wanted. The thick cock was sliding between his legs now, brushing the underside of his balls. It was good. But not what he wanted.

"Mycroft. Inside me, please..." he managed to grunt out. Mycroft pushed up a little and lifted Greg, and then there was the beautiful burning as Greg felt himself being entered. Somewhere at the back of his mind Greg was trying to get his head around the finer implications of it. That whilst it was nice to screw Mycroft and be up to his balls in the big boy's velvety arse, it was so much nicer when Mycroft's thick meaty cock was thrusting in and out of his own hole. Greg wondered what his friends at school would think. He found that he didn't really care.

Mycroft's balls brushed against him and broke his train of thought. He stilled for a moment, pausing to make sure Greg was comfortable and then began thrusting. Greg gripped tighter, encouraging Mycroft's thrust to increase in their brutality. Greg wanted to be thoroughly pounded. He could hear his heart beating in his ears and Mycroft's ragged breathing and the loud creaking of the antique bed. As Mycroft writhed on top of him, Greg moved his hand to rest between the cleft of Mycroft's buttocks. It was something he'd read about somewhere. Then he pushed two of his fingers into Mycroft.

The bigger boy gasped, his eyes flying open and looking down at Greg for a moment, before the eyes narrowed and the thrusting picked up pace. Greg pushed his fingers in further and felt Mycroft clenching tight around them and then suddenly Mycroft was coming. A series of jerky thrusts and hot sticky wetness escaped him as he shuddered into Greg before collapsing on top of him, breathless. There was so much stuff it felt as though Mycroft had just wet the bed.

"What was that?" Greg tried to push Mycroft off.

"I don't know." Mycroft, it seemed, was unable to move. Greg's own erection was squashed between them and Mycroft's heaviness was slowly squeezing Greg's bladder in to submission. Greg made a mental note to get Mycroft on the scales to see exactly how much boy flesh he was dealing with as he heaved him off.

Mycroft still lay panting on the bed when Greg returned from the bathroom. The sheets were a mess, covered in the result of the previous night's activity as well as Mycroft's monster orgasm. Mycroft had rolled onto his back and Greg could see his stomach and chest were covered in thick ropes of semen. He straddled Mycroft, letting his cock trail through the mess on Mycroft's belly. Mycroft moaned and arched up against him, soft, sticky flesh pressing against the hardness. Greg stroked himself a few times and then felt his balls tightening as he climaxed.

Greg was looking down at the mess, transfixed, when there was a knock at the door.

"Will you boys hurry up? Sherlock wants to open his presents." Mercifully Teddy did not open the door.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock was looking curiously excited at the pile of brightly coloured packages taking up most of his place at the table. Someone had hung balloons from the ceiling and made a banner that was pinned to the wall. Sherlock picked up a small parcel and shook it experimentally.

"Pyjamas!" He exclaimed. "Probably with cartoon animals on. And two sizes too small. From Auntie Cordelia. She doesn't remember how old I am." He shook the box again. "Or that I don't like Sherbet Fountains. But she does always remember it's my birthday."

"Just open them!" John Watson rolled his eyes.

"Where's the challenge in just opening them John?" Sherlock eyed John suspiciously, clearly wondering what he was talking about.

"Exactly. They're presents. They're not supposed to be challenging." Sherlock picked up a large box, wrapped in shiny silver paper and shook it carefully.

"Hmm. Something large. Quite heavy. And wrapped in bubbles. You can hear a slight pop as it moves about. Probably fragile."

"If you don't open them I will!" John reached for a long thin package.

"Oh all right. Be boring!" Sherlock picked carefully at the sellotape holding the package closed.

"Sherlock!" John held his head in his hands and sighed. Then Sherlock grinned at him and ripped off the wrapping paper. Both boys looked at the rather unpromising brown box in front of them.

"It could be a football. It moves like it might be round. But Uncle Ali and Uncle Teddy would never buy me a football." Sherlock lifted the lid on the box, removing a few handfuls of bubble wrap and packing and peering into the box.

"What is it? Let's see." John craned up to take a peek. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak and, finding he was unable to utter a sound, he simply held the box out to John. John looked inside and nearly dropped it.

"Is it real? Sherlock? It's someone's skull!" John lifted the skull out of the box and onto his plate where it grinned up at him. Sherlock stared at it for a moment. Green eyes locked on black sockets.

"Is everything all right boys?" Aloysius Holmes rumbled from the doorway he was currently filling.

"It is the best present ever!" Sherlock launched himself at the big man, wrapping his thin frame around his uncle's bulk. "I love you."

John continued to look at the skull. The skull seemed to have lost interest in John, but cheered up considerably when Mrs Hudson entered with a pot of tea.

"They got you a skull?" John poked the long thin parcel suspiciously. "What else did they get you?"

"It's all right John." Aloysius patted the small boy on the shoulder. "It's from a medical collection. We didn't chop any one's head off. Why don't you give Sherlock your present now?"

John indicated Sherlock should open a slightly lumpy, misshapen package. Sherlock gave it a deductive squeeze before ripping the paper of to reveal a soft toy panther, rather like John's tiger, but considerably cleaner. Sherlock stroked the panther's ears.

"You have to give him a name Sherlock."

"Can he not just be called Panther?"

"That will get confusing if he meets other panthers."

"Is that likely?" John shrugged. "What's your tiger called?"

"Nelson, 'cos he's only got one eye."

"Napoleon!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Napoleon Panther."

"Oh good grief!" Mycroft had joined his uncle in the doorway with Greg not far behind.

"Look what I've got. A skull and a panther!" Sherlock was clearly not able to believe his luck.

"Did you open mine yet Sherlock?" Mycroft looked a little disappointed his thunder had been stolen and indicated the long thin parcel.

"I suppose you got me something boring. Like an umbrella." Sherlock half heartedly tore the paper off. And then he paused. John looked over. From where he was sitting Mycroft's present did not look boring at all. In fact it actually looked rather exciting!

"Wicked! It's a stunt kite. My brother has one. They are so cool!" John enthused, Sherlock looked thoughtful as he removed the kite from its wrapper, revealing a large skull and crossbones pattern on it. Sherlock looked at his brother, questioning.

"I thought you and John might enjoy flying it."

"John will enjoy flying it. I will enjoy watching John fly it." Sherlock gave Mycroft the briefest of smiles before returning to his presents.

...

"I can't believe we have to go back to school today." Greg threw a pebble, which plopped into the ornamental pond. "Can't we just stay here?"

"I think your parents might have something to say about that." Mycroft was looking rather rakish in his thick Aran sweater.

"Yeah." Greg sighed. Somehow this place didn't quite seem real. Like it was all a lovely dream. In the distance he could hear John and Sherlock zooming about, trying to get the kite airborne.

"But school won't be forever."

"No. But next year you'll be at Cambridge. I won't. And then you'll meet someone else."

"I don't think I will. Meet anyone else. That I like as much as you. Why don't you apply to Cambridge?"

"Because I won't get in. I'm not clever like you. I'm not going to get six As or whatever it was you got.

"It was eight. But that's beside the point. They like people who are good at sports and things."

Greg leaned back against Mycroft.

"It's fine. Can't afford it anyways. I'm going to Hendon. It's all fine. "

"And when I'm Prime Minister, You can be my bodyguard."

"Cool. Does Your Uncle have a bodyguard?"

"He has a driver with a gun. Does that count? They both do."

"What does he do exactly?"

"Which one?"

"Either. Both."

"Erm, Ali works for the Home office. Teddy is on some kind of policy committee I think."

"So you don't know either?"

"No. Not a clue. Teddy works some strange hours. Sometimes he gets called out in the middle of the night. Ali, well, whatever he does, he always seems to be able to stop doing it if we need him."

"Or turn up at School and intimidate strangers?"

"Yeah. He did say he was sorry. You weren't really scared were you? I've never considered him to be all that intimidating."

"Well he is. I mean he's huge for a start. He could probably squash me flat with one hand."

"He never would." Mycroft knew his Uncle was the gentlest of men. Although there was something in his eyes, just sometimes...

"I suppose he has people to do that for him." Both boys laughed. Unaware of how close that was to the fact of the matter.


	23. Chapter 23

They arrived back at school just after seven. Greg watched as the large black car pull away and he sighed. He had just spent the past two hours on the back seat with Sherlock, who had curled up and gone to sleep as soon as the engine started. And Mycroft, who had been doing a really good job of ignoring him, mostly, Greg suspected due to his Uncle's parting shot of "Behave yourself." John Watson had ridden in the front passenger seat. He had a thing about cars and had been interrogating Clive, the driver, for the whole time.

For the whole journey Greg had been pressed up against Mycroft's leg, drinking in the warm musky scent of him and desperate to rip his clothes of and have him on the back seat.

Greg picked up his sports bag. It was like being set free and then having to go back to prison. He felt a warm presence behind him and something pushing against the small of his back. Mycroft bent down and whispered in his ear.

"It isn't forever."

"It just seems like it." Greg turned around to face Mycroft.

"I will understand if you want to distance yourself from me."

"What?"

"Well it's one thing spending the weekend at your room-mates home. It is entirely another to announce to people you have known for years that you are now...well whatever you call this."

"I think what we did at the weekend was called shagging like rabbits."

"Yes. Quite. But..." Mycroft took a step back. "Are we going out now?"

"Erm..." Greg was confused. And Uncle Aloysius's words resonated around his head that he just needed to wait and Mycroft would come round.

"Because...well...if we were that would be fine. But I understand that you don't want all your friends knowing about it. About me. Because..."

"You know what? Yes we are going out. You are my boyfriend. My lover. Whatever you want to call it. And I hope it lasts. And I'm going to work so hard to get the grades to get in to Cambridge. Because one day I might want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I think it's about time everyone here knew who I really am."

"Okay." Mycroft, for once had nothing to say in response.

"So Let's go have dinner. Because I know you want dinner. And then we can go back to our room and do something about that massive erection of yours." Greg smiled and looked downwards.

"Actually... I think I want to do something about that first. Dinner can wait."

"Really?" It was obviously a night for revelations.

"Yes. Really."

...

It was unfortunate that Paul could not possibly have picked a worse moment to barge into the room. Really. Greg supposed if he had been paying attention the look on Paul's face would have be hilarious. As it was Paul walked in just at the exact moment Greg's straining erection had erupted as Mycroft had thrust into him and a split second later had started coming himself.

Paul stood like an animal caught in the headlights. Eyes wide. Uncertain of what to do.

"What are you doing?" Finally. The silence was broken by a stupid question. Greg clamped his hand firmly over Mycroft's mouth. This didn't need to be any worse than it already was. Greg had been ready to come out. Just not quite like this.

"Yeah. Right." Greg was rallying his thoughts. He only had one shot at this.

"Did he force you to do this? Is he raping you?" Sometimes Greg wondered how Paul's brain generated enough power to keep him breathing.

"No. Paul. I'm gay."

"What about him?" Paul pointed a finger at Mycroft.

"Yeah he's gay too."

"I mean, what are you doing with him? You could have anybody."

"Really? This is the conversation you want to have? I like Mycroft. End of story. I'm still Greg. I can still play rugby. I'm still your mate. I'm not suddenly going to try and kiss you or anything."

"Why not? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing." This was not going remotely how Greg had imagined.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft mumbled from behind Greg's hand. "I'm right here. I can hear you talking about me."

"All this time. You've been gay. And you've been...with him. Why have you never tried to hit on me? What's he got I haven't."

"I'm going for a shower." Mycroft levered Greg off of him with a wet noise as his cock sprang free. It seemed the interruption hadn't quite killed his ardour. Paul looked Mycroft up and down. Mostly down his mouth wide open.

"Bloody hell!" Was his only comment.

"Answer your question?" Greg watched Mycroft wrap a dressing gown around himself and slink out of the room. "Anyway. Why did you barge in here in the first place?"

"Oh. Yeah." Paul seemed grateful of the subject change. "Two guys turned up yesterday. We think they were plain clothes police or something. Asked everyone a load of questions. And then well. James Moriarty? He's been expelled. And they took him away."

Greg couldn't help but smile. Aloysius Holmes had said he would sort it all out. And Greg was more convinced than ever that the big man didn't just occupy a minor position in government.


End file.
